


Connect the Dots

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Sex, First Time, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The two of them, they know the value of a choice. The cost of opportunity, and opportunity lost. There are thousands of ways they could die, but an unfathomable number of ways they can live. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yuuri and Mamoru working through the events following immediately after Hagane no Shou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Messiah Project, nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional sex, canon themes, mentions of character death, 
> 
> **Spoilers** : Hagane no Shou, potential vague references to Shinku no Shou
> 
> Experimental fic. Set shortly after Hagane. This is basically me dealing with all of the fallout from Hagane that we didn't get to see. And also me playing with transitioning relationships because I always find that fascinating. 
> 
> Note: Future chapters will mostly likely not be this long. I had a lot of things to set up in the first chapter.

 

* * *

 

Humans are something strange, made up of so many contradictory elements that shouldn’t work together but do. They push and pull on different facets of themselves, bending and flexing to fit their environment. It’s fascinating really, that innate will to survive that seems to be written into their core. But sometimes it’s missing. Broken and smudged until it’s illegible. Kaito wonders what exactly happened to Mamiya to deface his desire to exist. Of all of the circumstances that fell on top of each other to crush Mamiya, which had been the fatal weight?

He doesn’t actually want to know.

It’s too dangerous a question. Loaded with so many potential pitfalls on top of all of the information he’s already drowning in. Friend, spy, Messiah, traitor. All of these words describe Mamiya. Not one is strong enough to cancel out the others. They are all true, and they are all of equal importance. Mamiya was too much torment and too many lies, all shoved into a vessel desperate for understanding. One person destroyed by a collision of forces both external and internal. How does he reconcile that? Kaito’s not sure he can, not yet. Not when he’s still reeling from the spike of betrayal dug into his ribs, and constant reminders of three. Three of them, three of the original four left.

The sound of Mamiya’s violin plays to images of Mamoru’s body being thrown by that detonating suitcase. The flash of the explosion lit by a trilling high note, and the broken fall narrated by the diminuendo of the final measures of a tragic song.

He almost lost his Messiah. Ariga did lose his Messiah.

Had Mamiya ever Ariga’s to begin with? It’s hard to say. Maybe parts of him had been, had wanted to be. But there were so many other things none of them saw that Mamiya owed, and was owed by. Ariga’s claim had been feeble in comparison. And so had Kaito’s. Mamiya had been his Messiah once too. He never lets that get shuffled too far behind all of his attention to Mamoru and what must be done to stay alive.

_He remembers the way Mamiya had tried to be something to him._

It’s only hours built into years of practice that keep Kaito’s fingers gliding over keys while his mind is so far away from the screen in front of him. He works as quickly as ever, but none of them have been themselves. Not really, not in their entirety. Mamoru is beside him, typing away. Slower than Kaito, but he is steady and rarely makes a mistake. His Messiah is always so attentive to their work, but even he hasn’t been entirely present since Mamiya’s death. He’s quieter, pensive.

And then there’s Ariga.

Immediately after Mamiya’s death Kaito had been able to sense that sickening despair that he is no stranger to clinging to Ariga. Guilt is a symptom of the disease that is nearly impossible to overcome once the infection settles into reality. It had been there. There in the way Ariga’s hands had shaken, and in the way his face had been twisted by the starkness of a life destroyed. Kaito recognizes that devastation, and he knows the medicine for it takes some help to swallow.

He’s pinned between a desire to reach out and an instinct telling him to stay back.

There are so many common threads between him and Ariga that would make a great noose. Or a lifeline.

But he’s not sure how to move forward.

Kaito had falsely accused Ariga of being the traitor. Had lashed after Mamoru’s injury. The anger he had felt during that incident had been shocking even to him. All he had known was that somebody had to pay for Mamoru’s suffering. Somebody had to answer for throwing his Messiah into a sea of white sheets and overly loud machines on the lookout for any turn south. The desire to _murder_ whoever was responsible for hurting Mamoru had gotten him drunk on rage and fear of loss. He hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Seeing Mamoru alive, albeit covered in enough bandages and bruises, had sobered him.

That doesn’t change the accusations he had made. For all of his attention to finding facts and analyzing the data, the risk to his Messiah had overridden that all. He had been so angry that he had gone into this state of running on nothing but an instinct to protect, protect, protect his Messiah.

But he had stopped and listened. There had been too much on the line to throw everything away without even hearing what Ariga had to say. Kaito has never been one to give up on someone easily. Maybe he holds on too tightly, so tightly he’s in constant danger of not being able to let go if that time comes. But Ariga had been a part of their little group for long enough, had never given them a reason to mistrust him. So Kaito listened, and he had trusted in Ariga.

It paid off. But there are still loose ends hanging all around him. 

He needs to say more but is unsure of which words to give to Ariga, because he can’t look at him and not remember Mamiya. It’s still too soon.

But not too soon to notice a change in Ariga. The improvement is nice. Ariga has learned, and he’ll be better for it. But Kaito can’t watch Ariga give emotion, and concern, and guidance to Kagami and not feel bitter. The bitterness is mild though. The sting on his tongue not coming from Ariga himself, rather from a series of circumstances that are nauseating in their familiarity. No, he’s not still mad at Ariga. He feels for him, truly he does, he knows Mamoru does as well. He sees a sort of sadness in Ariga’s kindness towards Kagami. A sense of it being too little too late. As if he’s thinking that maybe if he had just reached out to Mamiya sooner then things wouldn’t have gone so badly.

Kaito wonders about that.

Mamiya had already invested so much in loneliness and destruction, who was Ariga to afford the price of paying that back? Ariga doesn’t have that kind of wealth either.

That thought spirals down and down into Mamiya’s choices, into everything Kaito still doesn’t understand. It smashes into his concerns about what right he has to grieve Mamiya. Is he mourning Mamiya or who he had thought Mamiya was? Does that difference even matter? Probably not.

Bruises from unanswered questions hurt every time he moves. Nothing is comfortable right now, every touch aggravates something inside of him. His skin is over sensitive, and his muscles cringe away from contact.

The pain is strangely cathartic, if it hurts then it happened. Mamiya had lived. And now he’s dead. It was all real.

Sure, he’s upset at the actions Mamiya took, at the pain he caused, at the trust manipulated. But it’s tempered by the flickers of raw humanity he had seen towards the tail end of their partnership and even beyond that. He remembers those moments well, taking his first gasping breaths of reality after breaking the surface of illusion while in Mamiya’s presence. Freedom filling his lungs, and the sounds of the present pulling him to shore.

He sees them when he stares up at the ceiling at night. So many things he had overlooked as odd little lonely gestures. Things he noticed, but placed aside because everyone in Sakura has something they will not talk about. He had had so many of his own problems to sort out. And Mamiya had always been more than willing to make his own pain secondary, less than secondary. But if Kaito had known. If he had taken his gut reaction more seriously…

He stops there, he can’t open it any further. That tinderbox filled with of scraps of memories and ragged bits of almost answers that aren’t worth the turmoil they burn him with.

Still, letting go of them is hard. Maybe if he pours over them one more time he’ll be able to find where it all went wrong.

But that assumes that one single moment is a turning point. And that’s wrong. Mamiya had been dragged, and lead, and shoved, until he finally walked over the edge. He never saw the option of turning around.

Kaito pauses to close his eyes for a moment and stretches his fingers. Mamoru glances over, and Kaito understands the question in the quirk of lips and the tension between brows.

“I’m ok. It was just a hand cramp.”

“Of course.”

The smile and head shake he receives as a reply is filled with equal parts (strained) amusement and exasperation. Mamoru is always reminding him to take breaks. To give his body and mind the rest they require. Kaito has made a conscious effort to do that, but it’s not just his fingers that are tight. Everything feels tight. Constricted by so many conflicting emotions and distorted memories that he struggles to breathe. Still, he is surviving. He isn’t choked off from reality the way he had been. He isn’t taking on water.

But reality is vicious. It sticks into his skin and stings his palms like glass and gravel. Kaito squeezes it tighter anyway. Grinds those sharp things in deeper, because they sever any lingering connections he has to previous illusions. They bleed out what remains of his old defense mechanism, and remind him how much he’d missed life and how much a life had missed him.

It’s in the way Mamoru holds his hand, or grips his shoulder, or pats his head. That he too is trying to reassure himself that Kaito is back, and that Mamiya’s death won’t take him away.

Mamiya is not Haruto. His death is shocking and it hurts. Badly. But shock isn’t the same as utter devastation. Nothing is irreparably broken, just shaken up. Certain things have fallen off their shelves, and Kaito can’t remember where they go.

He looks over at Mamoru whose focus is trained on the work in front of them. There’s a stiffness to his motions that is new. There is fear, and anger, and uncertainty fitting into the angles of his body. All of the negative space filled with a heaviness that Mamoru is determined to bear without showing the strain of. It’s a habit that Mamoru clings stubbornly to. Never allowing himself the same peace and forgiveness he gives to others. He insists on protecting. Insists on embracing Kaito while he allows their life as Sakura to tear him apart from behind where he thinks Kaito won’t see the wounds.

Kaito knows they’re there.

He’s aware of the exact weight his Messiah is carrying around down to the last gram. The chains clang with every step. It’s the same for him. Now that they have seen firsthand the worst possible outcome for a pair of Messiah, it’s suddenly so real. Their potential deaths right in front of their faces.

That’s not right though... Neither of them would betray the other. No, their circumstances are different than Ariga and Mamiya. Still, the thought of watching Mamoru die is the worst image his mind can conjure up. How would he move on from that? Accept a new Messiah, and try again? Hit the reset button? He couldn’t. They’re different from Ariga and Mamiya, they won’t meet that end. They can’t.

It’s easy to repeat, harder convince himself of. Words are only as powerful as the truth they’re backed with. Sakura makes no promises.

Mamoru taps the backspace key with excessive agitation. The clacking is loud enough that Kaito thinks the key is probably popped out of place. Although the typo had been minimal, the keyboard yelps from the brunt of a completely different kind of frustration. Kaito winces, his own teeth sore from the way Mamoru grinds his jaw, and his chest clenches when a frustrated inhale steals his breath away. It’s painful to see Mamoru like this. It stings when he snaps at Kagami, because Kaito knows half the bite comes from a place of disbelief and concern.

It doesn’t add up for Mamoru, the way Kagami doesn’t seem to care about having a Messiah. The responsibility weighs no more to him than the stick of a finished lollipop that he tosses in the garbage. Kaito can’t blame Mamoru for his outrage, Mamoru is a protector. He always has been. He can’t bring himself to leave Ariga to a Messiah who doesn’t care. He can’t trust a guy who doesn’t understand what is being placed in his hands not to break it.

Kaito and Mamoru. They share so much, and this dogged exhaustion and discomfort passes between them. Pulling one’s fears out, and looping them through the other who tries to provide comfort. It weaves in and out until it’s a constant pattern of everything that threatens to drag them down and down.

Kaito is determined not to let it.

Since then- No, since Mamiya, Mamoru wakes several times a night, and Kaito can never fall asleep in the first place. Food doesn’t taste like much other than gunpowder and ash, gritty and disgusting. It’s hard to choke down, but it’s harder to see Mamoru fussing over his health. So he swallows it all.

He has spent so many of the hours he should have been sleeping on thinking. Wondering.

Thoughts of how he can make this, that, everything hurt a little less for Mamoru. _For himself too._ Thoughts of comfort that have skirted up against boundaries whose borders have become increasingly faded. What really is there to worry about? If there is one thing he and Mamoru have always had in abundance it’s trust. Depending on that trust has gotten them this far.

He nudges Mamoru’s knee with his, “Mamoru.”

The jerkiness in the way Mamoru startles before turning to face him with a smile is telling. He’s doing the right thing, they both need to breathe again. “Yeah?”

“Come on,” he stands and reaches out for Mamoru’s hand, which he is given without hesitation.

“Don’t you want to finish up here?” The question doesn’t stop him from letting Kaito tug him out of his chair.

“We’ve done enough.” It’s not like Kaito to put off work. Mamoru knows it, but replaces any questions with a tightening of his grip on Kaito’s fingers.

When Mamoru laughs it’s too high, too thin. But that’s why Kaito is taking him away from work. Away from the job that has cost them so much, but they don’t think about those losses because this job lets them keep each other. It gave them Ariga, and Mamiya, and other things that had made it easy to forget what they gave up to be here.

Until the coldness of their situation had blasted through the window shattered by Ariga’s bullet.

Their room is some sort of shelter from that. Kaito leads, and Mamoru allows himself to be pulled toward their door. Maybe it looks a little strange, the way Kaito walks backwards so that he can keep watching Mamoru’s face the whole way there. It’s worth any sideways glances to see how Mamoru’s expression begins to lighten with a sort of confused anticipation. He steps back until his back bumps against their door. Mamoru reaches around him to let them inside.

It’s not at all uncommon for the two of them to spend time simply enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes they talk until their throats are dry and they end up laughing at each other’s scratchy voices. Other times they just lie beside each other and listen to breaths and heartbeats. Quiet things that Kaito is grateful for every day. He keeps an internal count of how many times Mamoru breathes or blinks in one minute.

It’s still nothing new when he leads Mamoru all the way to his bed, and they both flop down on it. They’ve done this before. Just lied down, and held onto to each other to remind themselves that they’re ok. There’s something grounding about holding and being held by the person you trust more than anyone in the world. Mamoru’s arms are perfect. His grip is always secure, but so careful not to be restrictive.

Mamoru starts to tug him into their usual position for cuddling. Gently moving their limbs into the shape that they’ve discovered provides maximum comfort.

Kaito grabs his hands and stops him. If he lets Mamoru pull him too far into their normal routine, he’ll give in. It will be the same as yesterday, and the day before that. A few hours of quiet reprieve that are quick to be consumed by the stress of the next day. No, Kaito wants to try something that will last a little longer. Something that’s impact will be enough to stave off the stress they’ve both been bending under.

It’s the way that Mamoru’s eyebrows draw together in puzzlement, and his lips tipping into a half frown that cause Kaito to hesitate for a moment. Maybe this is too much, maybe he should just give it more time.

No. He promised himself he was going to offer this. He trusts instincts not lead him astray, trusts Mamoru not to freak out whether he accepts or declines.

Still, this something that’s easier to think about than to put into action. His hands aren’t quite steady when he rests one on Mamoru’s shoulder while the other brushes against his cheek. He inhales once to steady himself before smiling shyly. This will be fine. It’s Mamoru. It’s comfort. It’s a way for both of them to put something else in place of the pain that has been gnawing on them.

Mamoru is watching softly, some inkling of an idea waiting in his eyes. But he remains still.

Kaito kisses him.

Kissing your best friend isn’t something he has any practice with, but it feels nice. His mind hums with a warmth that blocks out gunshots and crescendos. He traces his fingers along Mamoru’s jaw, feeling the way muscles tense and then relax to open up to the kiss. It’s not hard or demanding. Just a lingering press, deceptively quiet in all that it offers.

 _Three, two, one._ It’s pulling back that is more nerve-wracking than the act itself.

Mamoru is surprised, he expected that. It’s that he does not speak, that catches Kaito slightly off guard. Instead, he studies Kaito for several seconds. Looking from his eyes to his lips, back to his eyes again.

Kaito’s breath catches until Mamoru frees it with a nod, and leans in. He stops short, and makes Kaito meet him half way.

There’s even more of a flood this time. His senses scramble over each other trying pick out all the things rippling on his consciousness. Like Mamoru’s hands sliding into his hair to encourage him to tilt his head just a little more to the right. Or how when he pulls away to breathe he can feel Mamoru’s breath on his lips. His vision blurs until colors scatter along his nerves. He needs to ground himself, or risk being swept away. Awareness is key. He needs to be present in every single moment of this. Mamoru can’t be alone.

Kaito loops his arms around Mamoru’s neck, fingers splaying over where his pulse is drumming away. Not frantic, but quick. So fast, everything in their lives seems to race. If he pooled together all of the seconds since they joined Sakura, there’s not that many of them. Not in the grand scheme of things. But so much has rushed by, and rushed to meet them.

By comparison, their kisses are slow. They take their time with each other. Nobody is getting left behind, or stranded by these moments. No, they hold onto each other just as firmly as always. Kaito thinks Mamoru must be able to taste the lingering sorrow on his tongue, the same way he hears Mamoru’s pent up frustration in every exhale.

These are precious feelings that they pull from each. They turn them over between wandering fingers, and validate them with every kiss. Validation. It’s so important. To promise Mamoru that he matters, that his feelings are irreplaceable to Kaito. No matter what Sakura says, they have lived, they continue live, and they’re deserving of protection.

_Mamiya had never been convinced of that. Kaito and Ariga failed him on that front._

Those thoughts always draw his muscles into nets that capture negative emotions and bind them into knots of aches and memories. Mamoru has always seemed to have a sixth sense when it comes to Kaito, they joked about it when they were children. It’s no joke when Mamoru tugs at him until they’re lying flush again each other.

“Hey, do you...” Mamoru sounds like want and disbelief working themselves together into a delicate lace pattern. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

The answer should be obvious, and yet Mamoru asks anyway. Nothing is taken for granted between them. Kaito nods, trying to give his most permissive smile. This is for Mamoru to take, but there is no obligation for him to do so. The two of them, they know the value of a choice. The cost of opportunity, and opportunity lost. There are thousands of ways they could die, but an unfathomable number of ways they can live.

“And you’re ok with that?” Mamoru’s voice is thread thin.

“ _Yes._ ” Kaito nearly laughs with the giddy sort of pride that comes with making his Messiah sound like _that_ instead of the terse tone he’s carried recently.

Still nothing happens for a few moments. Kaito realizes Mamoru still needs reassurance. He’s not willing to move forward until he knows what this means to Kaito, and in turn what it will mean to him.

“I haven’t been able to think straight, since he died. Some of it doesn’t make any sense.” Kaito swallows, his saliva is thick with all the things he never said. “But you make sense. I need my Messiah, and you need me too.”

“Kaito.” Mamoru’s hand reaches out to pat him on the head, but slides down to his jaw instead. “You’re- Yes.”

Incomplete sentences, but complete thoughts.

Kaito’s heart articulates the things Mamoru’s words can’t. His heartbeat can’t decide whether to speed up with the exhilaration of his offer being accepted, or slow down because Mamoru is solace. The resulting rhythm is perfectly tuned to the flourish of emotions that twist all around them. It’s all the tears they didn’t cry, all the anger they never screamed out, and all of the laughter that died before reaching their lips. So many things they had crumpled up and stuffed down inside themselves are finally being channeled toward release.

Mamoru unclasps the snap of Kaito’s leather jacket, fingers dipping past the material to trace the column of his throat. Kaito swallows, and Mamoru’s fingers follow the motion before working the zipper down until the coat comes off completely. The stifling leather falls to the ground, bringing threads of anxieties new and old with it.

They have always been so many things to each, have filled so many roles, but it has always boiled down to the most basic elements of Mamoru and Kaito. Two individual people who have chosen each other time and time again. Children don’t know the commitment they’re making when they pick their first friend, so friendships end. Few people stay with you your whole life. But Mamoru has stayed, Kaito has stayed.

It’s not as though crossroads have never presented themselves, they have. Mamoru could have walked away when Kaito fell into isolation. Instead he followed him into the dark, subjected himself to pain, and confusion, and hurt, just to stay with Kaito.

Kaito could have walked away too. He could have become exhausted by Mamoru’s need to protect, his desire to always put others before himself. It’s not easy to listen to Mamoru tell him to take care of himself, when he nearly gives himself ulcers over whether Kaito slept enough. Even Kaidou-san had noticed that Mamoru doesn’t always work well with others, he tries to work _for_ them instead. But it’s all because he cares so much that it hurts him to see others hurt. And Kaito could never resent him for that tenderly sincere part of himself that so few people seem to have. So Kaito stayed, will continue to stay.

He knows Mamoru can hear that devotion when they kiss because the response is spoken with shuttering gasps. Better yet is when Mamoru smiles, and Kaito gets to kiss that too. The taste of Mamoru’s joy is something he’ll never grow tired of. It’s addictively sweet, and Mamoru is kind enough to allow his tongue to taste more and more of it until he’s winded.

Everything around them seems to have been spun into a curtain that closes out all of the things they cannot bear to think about every second of every day. It’s important to remember. It’s equally important to be able to let go. Letting go isn’t forgetting. It’s differentiating between _then_ and _now._ It’s acknowledging the past without allowing it to make the future sick. A lesson Kaito has painstakingly learned, is still learning. It’s just that he hadn’t expected to be tested on it so soon.

Thoughts are pulled inward with Mamoru’s lips tracing along his collar bones. Kisses and nips all pricking his skin with new sensations that are disorienting in the way they start where Mamoru’s lips meet his skin, but quickly travel outward until he’s shivering. Kaito finds himself staring at his own hands gripping Mamoru’s coat trying to figure out what to do, where to go. Nobody warned him about intensity so great that his limbs would forget themselves. Nobody told him about how he’d feel breathless, but his chest would be full. Nobody mentioned the way looking into his partner’s eyes would freeze him in awe, and shove him forward with desire.

Forward sounds like the better option. They haven’t gotten to what Kaito set out to do yet. But they’re getting there. Peeling the Sakura coat off of Mamoru is definitely a good start. Mamoru pulls at his shirt, and Kaito bends his arms to help him slide it off. It’s a little more difficult when it comes to Mamoru’s shirt. Kaito’s hands aren’t as steady as he’d like, and the fabric catches over Mamoru’s head obscuring him behind a T-shirt mask.

The laughter from underneath the shirt is infectious. The sound carries away some of his nerves that had threatened to build his inexperience into doubt. It’s fine. Teamwork gets the shirt the rest of the way off, the only casualty being Mamoru’s hair which is now fluffed with static. The humor of the situation is a nice interlude, but it gives way under the desire to continue with their exploration.

The rest of their clothes come off slowly, but without any trouble. For as new as this experience is, their hands know the bodies under them well. Knowledge is accumulated over time. Time is something he and Mamoru have had more of together than most other Messiah pairs. Maybe that knowledge takes away from some of the excitement of new discovery, although Kaito’s not convinced.

If anything he’s even more exhilarated because of their shared past. New and exciting are not mutually exclusive. He knows Mamoru, knows the way he hurts, and how he heals. The opportunity to be more intimately a part of that process than he has ever been before is something remarkable. To allow Mamoru that same opportunity is dizzying with the power of power being relinquished.

It’s a decidedly pleasant experience when every layer between them is finally gone, and the feeling of skin on skin makes his ears ring with the hundreds of things he wants to do. With the thousands of places he wants to dip into his Messiah and draw out all of that stagnant suffering. Crush it between their joined palms until it is a dust so light that they barely notice the weight of it.

The bandages concealing the wounds from Mamoru’s run in with that explosion draw Kaito’s focus. He had gone with Mamoru to the medical bay every single day as he recovered. The bruises went through an array of ugly colors, and the burns passed through several stages of anger before any improvement seemed to be made. Mamoru hadn’t wanted him to, but Kaito had needed to see the wounds at every step. Had needed to be there to let Mamoru squeeze his hands, and curse under his breath when a doctor wrapped just a little too tight.

Those bandages are still there. Testament to the conflicting senses of how long it’s taking for Mamoru to heal, and how short a time it has actually been since the injuries occurred. It makes Kaito pause, hesitation creeping into his fingers. The last thing he wants to do is to hurt Mamoru. It’s partially his fault those wounds are there. He’d let him open the suitcase, he’d been the one still stupidly too close to it after they saw it was empty, he’s the one who stood there while Mamoru protected him. Again. The way Mamoru’s body hit the ground… For a few agonizing seconds, he had thought he must be dead. Death is an unwelcome thought, snaking up Kaito’s arms and pulling him back.

Mamoru grabs his wrists, pressing his hands over where the bandages are secured.

“Does it still hurt?” This can stop right now. It would be difficult, but he’d do it. This was always for Mamoru to begin with.

“No.” Mamoru sounds sincere, even though Kaito is sure he can’t be completely pain-free yet. It all depends on what they’re defining as _hurt,_ Mamoru doesn’t consider his bruises and burns to be anything more than part of the job.

Unwinding the bandages is careful work. Kaito trails his fingers along skin as he pulls away the wrapping. Mamoru is dotted with contusions, and at least one of the burns will definitely scar. But Mamoru is alive. These wounds are proof of that. They have reduced in size and severity as his body works towards healing itself. Something it most definitely could not do if dead. This is real. Mamoru is not Haruto. Mamoru is not Mamiya.

Mamoru’s fingertips trace lazy patterns on his back. Connecting his shoulder blades to his ribs, and his spine to his hips. Every path Mamoru’s fingers take is followed by his Kaito’s nerves chasing after those pleasant sensations. Every single part of him, down to the smallest cell, is comforted by those hands. The thought of Mamoru’s fingerprints all over his back is enough to make him smile. It’s perfect really. Something so uniquely Mamoru’s making itself at home on his skin.

Kaito slides down to kiss the first of the bruises. Gently, boarding on apologetic. For letting his Messiah get hurt. For letting Mamoru go so long believing that he _had_ to protect Kaito from everything that it became instinctual for him to throw himself in harm’s way if it means shielding Kaito. Old habits die hard. But they’re trying. It’s his turn to take care of Mamoru now, and he plans to take full advantage of that.

One last kiss to the bruise he’s been mouthing at, and he moves on the next one. Skimming his lips over the ridges of muscles, letting his tongue trace a line from point A to point B. The next stop is given a little different attention from the first. Kaito’s experimenting. This is new to him. He’s not sure exactly what works, what’s pleasant or what might hurt. He tries using more force this time, pressing with his lips first and then grazing with his teeth.

Mamoru’s gasp punctuates both soreness and something else. Something that catches higher in Mamoru’s throat, tugging on strings that Kaito definitely enjoys the sound of. So he continues, from mark to mark, alternating kisses and licks. Filling in all of those damaged dots with all the comfort he can scrape together.

The last burn is the worst of the wounds. The heat of the explosion had snarled at skin, and bit it with a piece of the damn suitcase. Kaito hates this wound the most. He kisses it anyway. Kisses it even though it kicks his palate with the bitterness of the betrayal that lead to the wound. Kisses it even though it makes his lips tingle with the acidity of the fear that had gripped him. With every kiss and flick of his tongue the burn tastes less and less like pain, and more like Mamoru.

Hands squeeze Kaito’s shoulders, and he doesn’t miss the way a tremor runs through Mamoru’s fingers. The grip isn’t frantic or rough. But it makes Kaito look up. He’s surprised.

Mamoru’s eyes are misty. Tears aren’t what Kaito had expected. But they’re clear, and when they slide down Mamoru’s cheeks they don’t wash any joy away with them. They’re not like the tears Kaito had seen when Haruto died. Mamoru is still smiling, and Kaito is fumbling with the possibilities.

“Mamoru?” He doesn’t think he messed up, Mamoru seems alright. But tears haven’t meant anything good for them in a long long time, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” Kaito is the one who tends to speak softly, but Mamoru’s voice has always sounded lovely as a whisper. “It’s just a lot. But I’m fine. You’re doing great.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Something in Mamoru’s smiles shifts, and Kaito bites his lip. “But I think you should give me a turn.”

“Go ahead, I haven’t been stopping you.” Kaito’s half a smirk is covered by Mamoru’s enthusiasm.

What a talented Messiah he has. Mamoru has somehow managed to figure out how to kiss and laugh at the same time. Kaito swallows the sound the best he can, but it slips out the edges tickling his face. It’s all breath, and sound, and lips. Kaito’s hands grasp at air, catching emptiness before he finds Mamoru’s hips. Bone is solid. The anchoring effect is instant. One of Mamoru’s hands rests over his and squeezes, locking fingers into flesh.

Mamoru kisses his throat, trailing open mouth kisses down towards his breastbone with every inhale, before sliding up back up, teeth nipping at each exhale. Kaito’s lungs try to be obedient. They try to follow Mamoru’s pace until it’s too quick, too much. The attempt to breathe in and out simultaneously ends in a choked gasp.

There’s that smile again. Kaito can’t see it, but his mind traces each line of it from his neck and transposes it onto his own lips. Mamoru’s hands let his free in favor of wandering down his sides, drumming against his ribs. A brief distraction before gripping his waist.

Kisses come slow, then quick, descending down his body. Kaito pictures drawing lines between each point where Mamoru hangs a spark in his skin. He images outlining the constellation that Mamoru’s affection lights all over his chest. Mamoru has always tried to be true north, but even he gets lost. Everyone gets lost. But they’re creating a map. It’s not painless, it’s not a perfect fix, but it’s a way out. A brightness to follow that makes the dark halls a little less disorienting.

Kaito glides his hands across Mamoru’s shoulders. They’re strong. All of Mamoru is strong. It reminds Kaito of looking at a sad painting. Beautiful, but in that terrible sort of way that scuffs up your insides until dusty old sorrow is brought back to the forefront. Mamoru is strong, stronger than he should have to be. But all of that strength is fragility in elaborate costume. The pile of bandages on the floor beside them is proof of that. Humans are breakable, but most breaks are not fatal. For the most part you crack, and splinter, and carry on.

His stomach is given a similar treatment to his chest. It’s a different tempo, though. Not desperate, per say, but searching. Mamoru drags his tongue across the outlines of Kaito’s abdominal muscles, pausing to leave kisses here and there. Each one has the shape of a word just within the confines of Mamoru’s lips. Kaito feels _remember,_ and _when._ Recognizes the ghosting of _we’re_ and _ok._ Draws a shuddering breath at the forms of _I_ and _promise_.

Mamoru looks up at him in eager fondness. It’s enough to tip Kaito’s head back into the pillows. It’s enough to loop around his wrists and guide his hands down to the backs of Mamoru’s thighs. He traces circles around and around until Mamoru shifts and _Oh._ It’s impossible to forget that what they’re doing now is uncharted territory. It’s always been an option, but never a reality. Never something he thought they would turn to. But they’ve been falling, stumbling, and sliding. Mamiya’s violin strings stretch across every doorway, and every time they trip they get up a little hollower. In a little more danger of caving in.

This is breaking the cycle. This is giving everything he can to his Messiah to make them both feel whole again.

Kaito rocks his hips against Mamoru’s and the effect is jarring. The moan starts in Mamoru’s throat and ends in Kaito’s stomach. It’s difficult to think straight. His mind is running off, stashing logic in far corners to make room for whatever _this_ is that’s building and building. All Kaito knows is that he feels good when he makes Mamoru feel good. Maybe this isn’t the ideal solution. Maybe it’s trading old vulnerabilities for new ones. But it’s helping. When Kaito’s eyes close there is no smoking gun. When he opens them Mamoru is not crunching himself into the tiny box of what a Sakura cadet should be. No, he’s living, extending beyond the confines of cold walls and strict rules.

It’s been a while since Kaito has seen Mamoru like this. Not just maintaining a steady light, but flaring between a warm glow and a bright blaze. The rise and fall of light and shadow mesh until sun rises into sunset. They’ve always been a nice contrast. For whatever reason Kaito had been drawn to Mamoru as a child, he is grateful. Grateful to still be together after this long. To have been able to see every shade of Mamoru from then to now.

Mamoru holds Kaito’s hands, thumbs sweeping across knuckles. It’s not a new gesture. That familiarity is comforting, “Kaito, what do you want?”

There are answers dangling in front of his tongue. He could bite anyone of them out of the air, and make it his own. That would be fine.

He kisses Mamoru instead. Slowly and sweetly, fingers cupping Mamoru’s cheeks. Each one of his fingertips pressing _this, you, yes_ , into skin. He breathes against Mamoru’s lips, tracing them with all of the things he could say but won’t. Everything Mamoru already knows.

That’s all it takes to convince Mamoru, Kaito’s unspoken word. This is forward, moving and looking. Mamoru kisses his forehead, and then his nose, finally his lips. There isn’t a life lost sitting in the corner of the room. It had gotten up and left them alone together, knowing it can’t belong with two people so defiantly alive. That privacy is a freedom in its own right. The freedom to explore what Kaito has started.

The first discovery he makes is that it’s almost painful at first, despite Mamoru’s quiet reassurances and busy kisses. Kaito doesn’t care. He’d bear this for his Messiah anytime. If Mamoru hurts even a little less after all of this, then it was worth it. This isn’t a sacrifice. It’s a first for him, a first he never imagined, and couldn’t imagine with anyone else now that’s it is happening. He loops his ankle over Mamoru’s leg, trailing the ball of his foot up and down the taut muscles of a calf.

Mamoru pauses, breath ragged against Kaito’s ear. He adjusts their position, pushing Kaito’s knees and tilting his hips. The change breaks over him, shivers shaking a moan loose. His nails dig into Mamoru’s back, scratching into shoulder blades how overwhelmingly good Mamoru is to him. He’ll never have Mamiya’s ear for music, but it doesn’t take him more than a second to figure out their rhythm. It’s simple to meet Mamoru in every moment. He’s always been there, consistently right where Kaito needs him to be. It’s easy to let his legs lift from the bed, easy to drape them around Mamoru’s waist instead.

This is what he had wanted. As many points of contact as possible. Everything they do reflects off of the other, bouncing emotions around until every vibrant shade is visible. For the first time since Mamiya’s death crashed into any illusions of security, Kaito’s thoughts aren’t filled with vivid horrors and worst case scenarios. No, it’s just the hazy clarity found in the kind of trust it takes to do this.

And with that clarity comes the realization that Mamoru is still holding something back, still clinging to some concern that stops him from taking everything Kaito wants to give. It’s so like Mamoru. Kaito nips at his ear, trying to gather some of his attention into his hearing.

“Hey.” Kaito’s sure he’s never sounded quite the way he does now, “I won’t break.”

“Huh?” Mamoru slows, confusion struggles to scale hunger.

“Please, I want you to.”

It doesn’t happen in the first beat, or the beat after. But soon, soon it falls away. That last scrap of restraint. Mamoru kisses him, wobbly, inaccurate, but everything he asked for. Kaito probably won’t ever know what that one thought that Mamoru had been reluctant to let go of was. It doesn’t matter. Mamoru has always been allowed to keep his own thoughts, but he’s also allowed to share them. To lean on Kaito. Mamoru forgets that. Kaito will keep reminding him.

There will be no forgetting now, though. Not when he clings to Mamoru’s biceps, and Mamoru traces his face with gentle fingertips. Not when he kisses Mamoru’s collar bone, and Mamoru bites his shoulder. Not when they finish what they started with a force that shoves Kaito off an edge, but catches him soon after. Safe and warm.

It’s over, but not. This a step they cannot take back.

Still, it’s not regret that Kaito feels. Absolutely not.

The peacefulness in Mamoru’s face. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The way he dozes off with a hand on Kaito’s side instead of clenched into a fist. These things will never be deserving of regret.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamoru's POV, the following day

* * *

 

Mornings have never been a problem for Mamoru, waking is something he actually enjoys. The first few hours of the day are some of his favorites. Everything is still and sleepy, just the birds and him awake. There are no birds now. Well there are, but not anywhere he can see or hear them. The lack of windows had been one of his first disappoints after joining Sakura. Although, after everything he’s seen windows hardly seem to be of any consequence. Still he misses them, but waking up is mostly pleasant. Drawing himself out of that warm haze, blinking away sleep and familiarizing himself with each morning. No one morning is exactly the same. Sometimes his hand is under his cheek, other times his legs are tangled in the sheets, or he’ll be hugging his pillow. He’s especially grateful for the mornings when he has Kaito right beside him. The first thing on his morning checklist is to check on Kaito, and having him in the same bed is always soothing. Instantly easing nagging nerves with his first sight of the day.

This morning there’s that comfort, but also something more. Something created by the additional pieces his mind is slowly putting back together. Pulling memories from all over his skin and translating them into steadily more coherent thought. Kaito’s body heat is pleasant as always, the steady inhale and exhale is calming like it has been for years now. But it’s warmer than usual, and the realization is finally formed.

_Kaito had- They…. Oh._

The memory of yesterday is back, the reason behind their mutual state of undress and the lingering feeling of hands on him greet his mind and body differently. The overall feeling is one of disorientation. What does- how does he? There’s nothing in the Messiah rules, or in his past experience that tells Mamoru what happens after you sleep with your friend/Messiah. He chooses to take attendance of all of the sensations, new and old. Maybe then he’ll be able to put together some semblance of what exactly they did.

His body feels different than it has since Mamiya’s passing. The tension has eased its grip, the feelings of Kaito’s hand in his and the softness of their blankets don’t have to compete with the anger and anxiety that had hid under his bruises and burns. Mamoru had slept soundly, all of his energy poured into Kaito and accepting the comfort given so honestly. Every single one of his nerves remembers more and more with every step forward the clock takes. The feeling on his lips is sort of tingly, and his fingertips are warm. His heart aches a little less, Kaito stuffed so many other things in there that Mamiya’s death has less room to bang around. Overall, he feels better. Physically.

His mind isn’t quite as convinced as his body.

It remembers what his body tells it, but it also remembers other things. Darker things, less certain things that are too complicated for his skin to spell out. He’s proud of Kaito, nothing will change that. There are things he wasn’t sure Kaito would ever beat, and he did. But Kaito has a history… His track record with coping with loss is far from outstanding. It stems from how painfully kind and caring Kaito is. He becomes so connected to those around him. They become such a big part of him that losing them is a terrifying blow.

And Mamiya had died in the most devastating way possible. Mamiya who had been Kaito’s first Messiah. Mamiya who had helped to remind Kaito to _live_ without ever meaning too. Mamiya who had been so many things none of them ever expected, but not all of those surprises were bad. For as shocking as the betrayal was, Mamiya had still been one of them. He had not harmed them directly, not any more than he had had to given the whole sickening situation.

_Ariga had said Mamiya had the muzzle of his gun against his head and did not pull the trigger._

Mamoru knows that Kaito is feeling the loss deeply. He always has. He had felt Haruto’s death so deeply that it had cracked through his understanding of time and reality. This time appears to be going better, but the past is not so easily forgotten.

Mamoru will not allow himself to forget the signs. Kaito smiling into spaces that are as empty as his eyes. Feining at happiness he doesn’t remember the shape of. Avoiding sleep. Staring into nothingness. Failing to eat. Always thinner, always paler. Shaking without any obvious reason. Crying with no tears or sound. Seeking Mamoru’s reassurance but never accepting it.

Just because Kaito hasn’t slipped away yet doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods. Mamoru hadn’t seen it with Haruto until it was too late. _Or maybe he had seen it all along, but hadn’t recognized it until he couldn’t recognize Kaito anymore._ That fear is still is still present, the fear of losing Kaito and an even greater fear of failing to stop it. Because that was the most painful. Watching Kaito worsen, day after day and never being able to help snap him out of it. Only able to feed into the destructive tendencies. That cannot happen again. The anxiety is nearly immobilizing at times, but he has to keep going. Sakura will not wait for him to process his concerns.

So he pushes them aside. Shoves them down into the same place he has kept things like his own grief for Haruto, the sharp snap of leaving Takano with no closure, the way Mamiya’s body had looked, and the first time he saw Ariga cry. It had been getting to be a tight fit lately, so he shoved harder. And harder still, until it had all started breaking and bruising other parts of him. That’s when Kaito noticed.

That’s what lead Kaito to thinking of giving him last night. And it worked. He had been able to breathe again, had been too busy chasing Kaito’s pulse to remember the lack of one that had triggered so much pain for them. Kaito’s methods though… They were not what Mamoru had been expecting.

But they didn’t do anything wrong. Not as Messiah, and not as friends. For as close as they’ve been for as long as they’ve been, it’s not so strange that things turned out this way. It feels sort of odd anyway. Not bad, but new in a way he had never thought of. New is something he had believed he and Kaito were past. Apparently not. That’s certainly not a bad thing.

But it also doesn’t mean that he can lose himself in it. He needs to remain aware, stay vigilant. Maybe it’s just a nagging hitch, nothing dangerous, but he still wonders… Did Kaito have sex with him as some strange coping mechanism when he’s not really coping at all? Mamoru roles from his back to his side, trying to keep the tinge of panic from rising into his chest.

Kaito is ok. In this moment he is fine, and all they can do is take it one moment at a time.

He’s right here right next to Mamoru.

Mamoru allows himself to use the rest of what early waking bought him to look over his Messiah. He takes comfort in the peacefulness of Kaito’s expression. He’s curled up close to Mamoru, close enough that Mamoru can trace each line of his face in painstaking detail.

Kaito’s face has always had a sharpness to the angles of it. In the past those angles had become quite prominent, sticking further out of skin, holding up a general lack of wellness for the the world to see but not understand.

Forgiveness of himself and the resulting better health have softened Kaito a bit.

High cheekbones have just enough color to assure Mamoru that there is blood and warmth there. His lips are nearly tipping into a small unconscious smile, gathering emotions that Mamoru knows have dripped down from his closed eyes. He follows that pattern of gravity down the line of Kaito’s jaw to his neck.

This is a little more dangerous territory. Mamoru’s lips remember exactly the paths that those graceful lines follow from the column of Kaito’s throat, down to his collarbones, and outwards to his shoulders. The left shoulder takes any pinkness on Kaito’s cheeks and dots it on Mamoru’s a few shades darker. The mark he left on Kaito is shocking? Not so much that he doesn’t remember putting it there, he does, he had swallowed all those details at the time he made it. But the purple is vibrant against Kaito’s skin, and Mamoru flinches just a little bit at what may or may not be marks from his teeth.

He hadn’t meant to bite down that hard. Being rough with Kaito in anyway clenches up in his gut and sinks there. Death sends out destructively powerful vibrations, and Kaito has just finished rebuilding from Haruto. He’s got to be fragile, no matter how much he claims otherwise. Mamiya was enough, he doesn’t need his Messiah roughing him up too. Not that Mamoru thinks he hurt Kaito, but he needs to be a tad more careful.

It’s while Mamoru is lingering on a thankfulness that their oppressively hot uniforms have high collars that Kaito begins to stir.

Kaito doesn’t wake as easily as Mamoru does. It’s more drawn out for him. Slowly moving his limbs, yawning, going still again. Grumbling into the pillows, covering his eyes even if their room is still dark. Pawing at the blankets, conflicted between pulling them back up or peeling them away. It’s funny and so typical of Kaito. Mamoru’s concerns loosen their grip just a little bit, enough that some joy and a drop of humor slip through their fingers and into Mamoru’s heart.

Kaito could use a hand, and Mamoru knows how much he loves it when it helps him wake up.

It’s strange not having Kaito’s shirt as a barrier, but Mamoru swallows the implications of that and goes to work instead.

Tickling in between ribs, under Kaito’s arms, and in the crook of his neck.  
The response is infinitely more amusing than letting Kaito wake on his owns. His arms flails at Mamoru, inaccurately. One leg kicks out. He opens eyes, face twisting until he finds something sort of like a glare.

Any intimidation is blown aside by his grasping annoyed laughter, “Mamoru, stop!”

He ceases torturing but not smiling. “Good morning Kaito.”

“You’re terrible.” Kaito huffs, but the insult is spoken so warmly that Mamoru rests on the softness of it.

“I can’t be as annoying as the alarm clock.”

“No. Close, but not quite.” Kaito begins to sit up, careful to keep the blankets tucked around his waist. Modesty seems out of place at this point.

Mamoru’s nerves come washing back in as Kaito’s awareness grows, he follows Kaito’s eyes jumping to their discarded clothes. That gaze comes back to Mamoru, to his chest, up to his eyes.

He can’t find regret in Kaito’s expression. There’s definitely an air of curiosity, affection, a lingering tiredness. They’re both better than they were, but nothing is an easy fix. It never has been. You can’t take all that trauma and all that history of trauma and lock it away, can’t contain it to one time. It carries forward, hangs on future actions. To a lesser and lesser degree, but never completely gone. He doubts he’ll ever be able to watch Kaito experience loss and not break into a cold sweat. It’s only his recovery time that will continue to get better.

“We might want to consider getting dressed.” Kaito gestures towards where their digital clock has been knocked onto the floor.

Mamoru reads the upside down numbers and curses under his breath. He woke up early and it’s still not enough time. Not enough time to talk things over with Kaito. Figure out what is unchanged, and what’s moving towards something neither of them really understand yet. It’s a conversation that probably shouldn’t be put off long, but duty calls.

Ideally, Mamoru would like to make it to their mission briefing before Ariga and Kagami to minimize the chance of running into them in the halls. As much as he’d like to check up on Ariga, his new Messiah and Mamoru just don’t see eye to eye. The less time they spend together the less tense it is for everyone.

Kaito finishes dressing by the time Mamoru slips some pants on, “Come here.”

He turns and Kaito is waving fresh bandages at him.

Oh right, they’d taken them off last night… And while he’s mostly healed the bruises are still pretty tender. It wouldn’t be good if someone or something hit him. The medical bay could rewrap his torso for him before they head out on their mission, but Kaito is just as meticulous.

Mamoru slides over.

Words are passed up in favor of concentration. Kaito on binding Mamoru’s wounds, and Mamoru on Kaito’s face.

The pressure isn’t pleasant, but the way Kaito lets his fingertips trail along his skin is. The light prickling feeling convinces his skin to ignore the racket his injuries make when cotton lays on them. Kaito chews his lip, and Mamoru moves his arms out of the way as the wrappings climb higher and higher. Some of the nurses Sakura has could take notes of Kaito’s even pressure, and perfect half inch overlap between each layer. The final length of bandage is brought up and over the shoulder he had landed on.

“Thanks.” He rests his hand on Kaito’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“It’s no trouble.” Kaito smiles at him, almost sly. “It’s easier if I do it.”

The _because you’re not very good at it_ is implied. Mamoru’s defense had been that is one hell of a challenge to wrap your own ribcage. Kaito had teased him about his attempts and the wasted bandages anyway.

“We should go.” It’s tempting to stay here, stay in this comfortable moment. But they both know they can’t. Sex with your Messiah doesn’t garner a day off.

“Finish putting your clothes on.” Kaito tosses a shirt and his jacket over.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The mission is simple enough.

No direct engagement of any enemies, just gathering a little intel. Ariga and Mamoru will go on foot to investigate while Kaito and Kagami set up in a nearby building. It shouldn’t be a big deal. The danger level is lower than normal, a nice Sunday morning as far as their work goes. But it’s only the second mission back since everything went so sickeningly wrong that it ended with Ariga performing an unplanned execution on his own Messiah.

None of the higher ups will mention it, but they hadn’t assigned Ariga, Mamoru, and Kaito anything for about a week after the incident to give them a small rest. It was not out of any sort of benevolence though. Mamoru is certain of that. They had just calculated the risk, and decided that sending three emotionally drained and physically exhausted cadets into the field would end in more casualties than results.

Kaito straightens the tie on Mamoru’s disguise, fingers sliding down the length of the silk. “Be careful.”

It has always been a little tense, parting to fill their assigned roles. Mamoru is never thrilled being too far away to help Kaito if anything comes up, but at least he had trusted Mamiya.

_How ironic that turned out to be._

Leaving Kaito with Kagami really digs under his skin. It stings to think about something happening to Kaito because Ariga’s Messiah was too busy fooling around. Mamoru considers himself pretty tolerant, but if something happens to Kaito on Kagami’s watch Ariga won’t be be able to keep Mamoru’s fingers off the guy’s throat.

“I’ll be fine. Ariga will be with me.” He pats Kaito’s head, just like always. “You’ll have your hands full.”

“I can handle it.” Kaito smiles enough to unwind some of Mamoru’s anxiety. “He’s aggravating, not incompetent."

A few feet away Ariga is giving Kagami some sort of talking to. It takes a deep gulp of cool air to quell the heated frustrated that licks into Mamoru’s throat at the sight of Ariga’s grim seriousness contrasted with Kagami’s expression of utter boredom. Ariga is smart and vigilant, he hasn’t stayed alive this long for nothing. There’s plenty of advice he can give if his new Messiah would just _listen._ Take in all the words that Mamiya had needed but Ariga hadn’t learned how to give yet.

Kaito always seems to tense when he sees Ariga treating Kagami so kindly. Mamoru knows he’s worried about Ariga. Worried about the toll of trying so hard to not fail another Messiah. Ariga blames himself for Mamiya, for losing him. It’s not fair, but Mamoru’s not sure he would feel any different if it were him. It’s just that Ariga’s second chance has come in the form of a guy who Mamoru thinks could use a swift kick in the ass while Ariga seems convinced he can bring him around by gentler methods.

That conversation stops, and the four come together.

Ariga nods to Kaito, then turns to Mamoru, “Ready to go?”

“Yup.” Prepared as he’ll ever be.

“You two radio if anything happens.” Ariga doesn’t seem quite as unsettled as he had their first mission back. But he still looks tight with concern. There’s tension in the way he keeps his fingers curled and his jaw set. Mamoru can practically hear every warning that tugs on Ariga’s lips. _Be aware, watch out for each other, don’t die._

Ariga has come a long way, but some sentiments are better left unsaid. No point in ratcheting up what the three of them can already feeling crawling around. There’s uncertainty in every mission, but this is a different kind of dread.

“We’ll be alright,” Kaito tries to reassure them. His voice seems to sooth Ariga a bit further. Kaito glances to Kagami, “Come on, we need to finish setting up.”

“I’ve been ready, it’s you three who insist on messing around with dramatic goodbyes.” Kagami’s voice is something between snide and genuinely amused. He grins at Mamoru, “Your Messiah will be fine. If you want, you can stay with him and I’ll go with Ariga.”

Ariga shakes his head as soon Mamoru moves. _Don’t. Please._

Mamoru bites down on pointed words that crashed against the backs of his teeth. He steps back, uncurling his fingers from fists one at a time. Kagami is not his battle. But Ariga and Kaito’s safety absolutely is. Drawing the line between the two is hard, not lashing out over it is harder.

He stops himself for Ariga.

~~~~

The radio has always been one of the most useful tools on a mission, but it’s more than that now. It’s the only thing connecting him to Kaito, reaching through the air and brick and pavement between them. Mamoru listens to Kaito’s breathing over the connection. A little static distorts it, but the rhythm is steady. Calm. No signs of strain or distress.

Mamoru adjusts his collar to bring the little gold flower as close to his ear as he can get it without it being in plain sight.

It’s distracting, monitoring his Messiah so closely. Holding his own breath when he thinks he can’t hear Kaito’s. Syncing their inhales and exhales when the sound comes back to him. It’s a compulsion of sorts. Logically, he knows that if anything went wrong Kaito would call. There’s no reason for him to lurk on radio waves. But he can’t stop. There’s a feeling that tugs on his heart until it puts a block in his mind. He has to listen, because if nobody hears him then is Kaito really still alive? And Mamoru _knows_ that logic is warped, but he continues anyway. The tiny bits of relief it brings him are enough to keep his mind from circling back to even more dangerous places.

If Ariga notices his new habit he doesn’t point it out. Not directly anyway.

In return Mamoru doesn’t mention the way Ariga looks exhausted all the time. Doesn’t tell him that the shadows under his eyes are the color of the bruises that were left on Mamiya’s arms from where Ariga had tried to hold on to whatever promise of together _Messiah_ is supposed to guarantee. Mamoru never brings up the classical music he’s heard spilling from Ariga’s headphones during their down time. Or the way he always turns up the volume when it’s the violin’s turn. He doesn’t point out that Ariga is trying so damn hard with Kagami to make the best of a chance he _needs_ if he’s to have any chance of forgiving himself.

Mamoru thinks Kaito could help Ariga with that. Kaito’s guilt over Haruto had been one hell of a beast to overcome. But he did it. He also knows Kaito has wanted to talk to Ariga about Mamiya, but Mamoru is hesitant. Unsure if letting Kaito reach down into himself to show Ariga the scars from his loss to help him feel less alone is a good idea. In reaching for that empathy Kaito might grab onto old devastation again. And then where would he be.

“Shirasaki.” Mamoru startles slightly at Ariga’s voice.

“Yeah?”

Ariga starts to speak, then stops, teeth grinding behind a frown. He finds words again, “You and Yuuri, have you-”

Mamoru freezes. _There’s no fucking way._

“-do you still about think about it.” _him._ It’s not the scare Mamoru thought it would be. But it’s also not something they should be discussing while working. Still, Ariga seems to need to hear it, and this might be the only chance they have for a while.

“Yeah.” He’s whispering. Fingers crossed Kaito doesn’t listen in over the radio. He has enough to worry about with monitoring their targets over the computer and keeping Kagami on task. “We do. We’ve talked about it.”

“Ah.” Ariga doesn’t sound jealous so much as stranded. He’s been alone with a tremendous weight sitting on his chest. Mamoru has Kaito who lived that nightmare too. Ariga has someone who never knew Mamiya as anything other than what the report the officials had passed down on his death said. _Killed in the line of duty_ or some nonsense to keep questions away.

Ariga clears his throat. “How is Yuuri coping?”

If it were anyone other than Ariga, Mamoru would feel compelled to deflect any questions about that history. That’s a private chapter of their lives that nobody has permission to read, but Ariga has picked up a few stray lines that Mamoru and Kaito had worn on their arms.

“So far so good. I mean, he’s struggling but-.” Mamoru inhales deeply, “it’s not like before.”

“You’re worried though.”

When he laughs the sympathy in Ariga’s eyes almost makes him cringe, “Is it obvious?”

“No. But we were Messiah once.” Ariga and him, they hadn’t had much time together. But they had learned a thing or two about each other. About how to translate silence into conversation.

“We’re worried about you too.” Mamoru wants to shove Ariga when his eyes widen, “Kaito wants to talk to you.”

There. He said it. Mamoru is terrified of what damage Kaito could do to himself trying to help Ariga, but Ariga is important to the two of them. And he has to let Kaito do what do Kaito needs to do. All he can do is make sure he’s ready to do damage control should anything go south.

Ariga blinking rapidly and turning his head away tells Mamoru he made the right decision. All of those choking emotions Ariga’s got mucking up his insides need to come out. It won’t be pretty. The whole process is ugly and messy. But Kaito is good at it. He can seek out those toxic spots and pare out the rot with a sharp kind of kindness. Mamoru will be there to support them both. Steady is what he has learned he does best.

“Thank you both.” It’s three words, but a good start.

“It’s no problem.” Mamoru claps Ariga on the back. “But we need to finish up here, or else Kaito and Kagami will come looking for us.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Kaito is trying to give him gray hairs. Mamoru is sure of it.

The bruise on his knee isn’t bad, not really. But as soon as Mamoru had seen him cringe after bumping it against the bed he’d demanded to see. Had tugged his pant leg up and traced around the splotch of red dipping into purple, had pressed down on it to check for any deeper tissue damage. It’s a little hot to the touch, but nothing the medical bay needs to see.

“What did you do?” Mamoru holds the ice pack against the injury, free hand stroking Kaito’s thigh to steady himself as much as anything.

“It’s nothing, Mamoru.” Kaito’s voice is quietly apologetic. Embarrassed even. “Kagami and I were packing up and I hit it on the edge of a table.”

The explanation gets thoroughly deconstructed. Pulled apart and analyzed for anything omitted or out of place. It makes sense and it doesn’t. Everyone has their clutzy moments, Kaito can get spacey. But on a mission? No. He knows better. Walking into stationary objects isn’t like him. He would have had to have been distracted. That’s what Mamoru catches on, something just left of normal. Maybe it’s a fray in the line keeping Kaito from sliding away, a crack in that bridge that let Kaito come back to reality.

Maybe he’s losing him again.

“You need to be more careful.” Mamoru doesn’t intend his voice to come out as sharp as it does. It cuts him too, allowing some of that fear to bleed in.

“I’m sorry.” Apologies are not what Mamoru wants to hear. He doesn’t want to see Kaito’s eyes sliding down and fingers tying together in a nervous knot. It’s too familiar.

_I’m sorry. It’s my fault, Haruto. I’m so sorry._

“Don’t apologize, please.” It startles Kaito the edge of a plea slipping in, “Just promise you’ll pay more attention to your surroundings next time. Make sure you keep icing it, and I’ll grab some anti-inflammatory stuff just in case-”

“Of course. I’ll be more careful.” Kaito rests his hand over his. Mamoru turns his hand over so their palms touch. “But Mamoru...”

“Hmm?”

“We should talk.”

There’s nothing inherently scary about talking to Kaito, it’s been a source of so much comfort throughout the years they’ve known each other. Still, Mamoru is tipped towards an edge of anxiety. This is probably going to be the talk he wanted to have this morning. The sex itself doesn’t change anything. It’s just an action, but the meaning they each assigned to it. That needs clarified. Because damn had it meant something for them. So much that Mamoru doesn’t remember it in chronological order, but in a symphony of sound and sensation. Like every second is still happening all at once instead of individual increments.

“Go ahead.” Mamoru has always been willing to hear whatever Kaito needs to say.

“You’ve been acting strange lately.” Kaito is choosing his words carefully. Stepping along with a tentative care for Mamoru and a respect for the power of the right words, “But I think I recognize it.”

For the second time today Mamoru is left scrambling to catch up with a conversation topic not matching his expectations. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been hovering more than usual.” Amusement has never sounded as broken as it does now. Cracked up by all sorts of lingering ghosts. “You look afraid every time Mamiya’s name is mentioned around me.”

“Kaito, I’m not-” There’s no way to explain this easily. No way to say it without sounding like he has no faith in the tremendous strength Kaito has shown in coming this far. So he won’t explain his actions, but rather his fears. “I cannot watch you go through that again.”

“But I’ve been alright,” He shrugs. The appearance is casual, but the strings that lift his shoulders are braided from years of rebuilding. “It hurts, but I’m not going there.”

“We don’t know that.” Kaito is trying so hard to make him understand, but the gates are already open. This flood is happening now. Mamoru’s voice starts to raise, only to crash down into a hoarse whisper. “I knew you were struggling last time. And I saw signs, but I _never_ expected I’d lose you the way I did.”

“You never lost me. I came back.” Kaito’s hand grips his wrist, digging nails into his skin. The sting is something, but not enough. Not with everything racing through Mamoru’s mind. Old insecurities gust so hard that they turn bandages into kites. Dragging, pulling, snagging.

“But what if you don’t this time?” Nobody can promise forever. The nausea curls him forward, down and around him and Kaito’s joined hands. It’s pathetic, but his fear is not unfounded. He has seen the evidence. “You don’t deal with grief well. You know how much you mean to me, Kaito. But you care so much, almost too much. Haruto nearly destroyed you.”

“Mamiya isn’t Haruto.” Both names in once sentence, steady as steel and as jarring as ignited gunpowder. That in itself should prove the point Kaito’s trying to make. His free hand rests on Mamoru’s back rubbing circles too rough to be gentle but firm enough to push the air out of Mamoru’s lungs so that he can remember to pull it back in.

“But he was important to you. And the way he died...” The room isn’t shaking, is it? No, it’s Mamoru who’s shaking. His hands vibrating so hard they’re useless. Just like they’d been back then. “I want to keep you safe. I didn’t do that last time.”

“Mamoru, it was not your fault.” Tears from Kaito slam the breaks on Mamoru’s argument. “I am safe. I’m right here. Just _look_.”

Even with Haruto the crying had been mostly dry and silent. Drowning in air not water. The sudden halt in momentum throws Mamoru head first into the present. The wall between then and now crumbling from the impact. It bruises, and cuts, and broken pieces crashing down make it hard to breath. But it’s clearer now. Kaito is one continuous force. Not stationary, not waiting to teeter into the past or the present depending on the wind. He’s in control. Not complete control, nobody is, but he _is_ choosing to keep moving forward. Choosing to drag Mamoru forward with him.

A sob catches Mamoru off guard. It uses years of pent up distress to tear its way out. The sound yanks his breath out of his lungs, and scares the strength from his limbs. It’s a moment of terror, of a complete lack of control. An instant where all he can do is purge in tears and a wordless crash of sound. He’s dumping out everything he’d kept hidden in what he had believed was an attempt to keep Kaito safe.

It’s exhausting, going from being so full to feeling empty. Depleted. Even if so much of it was poisonous it still took up space, made him feel as though he had substance. That’s gone now, and when his body recovers he knows he’ll probably feel lighter, healthier. But not yet.

Now he wobbles, unsteady even in though he’s already in a seated position. Nothing is solid enough, nothing firm enough to brace him against everything he has just exposed. All these strange old things that haven’t been exposed to air in so long begin to disintegrate. The atmosphere in this room, in this time, it isn’t conducive to the continued existence of such things. Mamoru accused Kaito of dealing badly with grief, with the past. But it was never just Kaito, was it?

The feeling of vertigo begins to drum on him with enough force to knock him over.

Kaito’s there, wrapping his arms around him and pulling them both onto the bed. The hug is tight, extra force holding Mamoru in one spot. This spot. Kaito’s a nice place to be.

Mamoru grabs Kaito’s shoulders and holds on. The spinning slows down and down until he starts to feel each part of his body again. He remembers how to really breathe, and how warm a hug is when you’re not worrying about whether the other person is actually in your arms. He remembers how to appreciate every unique fiber under his fingers, and what Kaito’s face looks like without any filter of grief or distance.

This is as intimate as the night before in a lot of ways. Every breath, every sound, every sight is of shocking clarity.

Kaito brushes his sweaty bangs away, and traces along his cheekbone. “Are you ok now?”

“I think so.” Mamoru smiles. It’s not perfect, but it’s genuine. “Sorry for the scare.”

“You’re allowed a meltdown every once and awhile too. It’s only fair.”

The laughter he finally finds mixes with Kaito’s soft chuckling. The sounds are quiet, but they tear down the last bits of weathering anxiety. “Thank you. I, we needed that.”

“You’re so stubborn.” Fingers tap against the left side of his chest before Kaito presses his palm there. Almost seeming to count under his breath for a beat or two. “But I’m proud of you.”

Mamoru rests his head against Kaito’s chest and inhales deeply.

The one-eighty from their usual roles is a nice change. It’s more of a relief than he ever imagined, not being the one to bear the combined weight of both of their pain. This has been a long time coming. Every time he’d told Kaito _I’m fine, just worry about taking care of yourself_. Every moment he’d pretended that he didn’t feel like he’d abandoned Takano. Each second he had let Ariga stay silent, or hadn’t decided to approach Mamiya. All the times he hadn’t realized he was shoving away the gift of support Kaito had tried to offer.

People don’t change overnight. He’ll probably pester Kaito to take more than two slices of toast tomorrow, and fuss over that bruised knee. He’ll probably argue with Kagami and fret over Ariga. And that will be ok. Kaito will allow it. Because they both understand a little bit more now. Mamoru had assumed they were always on the same page, but even as one of the most “stable” pairs of Messiah they’d needed to resync.

But they did it. Years and years between them that they’d been able to rip down and put back together into something more jointly representative. Not Kaito’s loss on one side, with Mamoru’s overprotectiveness on the other.

This time they’ve started to put together a structure that alternatives bricks of Kaito’s tremendous kindness and Mamoru’s sense of humor. This time they’ve figured out how to mix Mamoru’s diligence and Kaito’s attentiveness into a mortar that won’t leave cracks for drafts to slide in.

Yeah, this is definitely going to end up being a better shelter. The one they’re going to invite Ariga in to visit. The one that will have Mamiya and Haruto’s pictures on the wall, but not in a shrine.

This will be the kind of stability they’ll need to come back to time and time again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! I hope everyone has an amazing 2016! :D
> 
> I finally got this chapter finished. I didn't plan on it taking me this long, but life happened. Anyway, I hope it sorta makes up for the wait ^^;. 
> 
> (Also, Ariga and Kagami will get some more interaction in future chapters, but I want to build that in slowly. Mamoru has some strong feelings about Kagami, and I have some stuff I want to tie in with Kaito and Ariga. But I don't want to rush that when I feel like the complexity of the situation following so soon after Mamiya deserves a slow and careful construction. )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Yuuri's pov for the long overdue chapter 3 :D

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It’s not often that Kaito is able to beat Mamoru in their training spars, but today doesn’t seem like it will go in the direction of victory for either of them. That’s entirely Mamoru’s fault. The usual discipline in which he tends to their spars is missing. There is almost none of his rapid fire attacks, or his quiet under the breathe critiques for Kaito.

Instead, he’s… Playful, would be a word for it. Flirting with movements that resemble fighting, but ultimately committing to something that must appear more like a couple of children tugging at each other. Maybe Kaito should be embarrassed, or confused. They must look impossibility young, smiling while strapped in leather and guns. Laughing with the same voices that have screamed, and threatened, and communicated plans of murder. It’s easier than it should to be forget the names and faces of the people he’s killed and watched Mamoru kill when they’re together.

Fooling around like this is hardly becoming of cadets with their life mission.

If Sakura were a person, if it were capable of granting a physical body to its ever present eyes, it would scold them. That much is certain. It would enforce its rules with heavy hands and a gruff voice. Things Kaito finds particularly unappealing. And perhaps whoever reviews the video of the training rooms will mention something to their commanders. They might get catch hell about this later.

Kaito can’t find it in himself to care.

If Sakura were a person on the street, he would turn and walk the other way.

But it’s not a person, and in this precise moment it's not a terrible place to be. His Messiah brightens things up enough to make shadows into sheets, and to manipulate deceit into sturdy walls.

It’s enough like home.

Mamoru smiles, grabbing Kaito’s biceps to give him a gentle shove. It’s funnier still how Mamoru pulls him in close seconds later. They send each other out, and are drawn back in. Simultaneously demonstrating dependence and independence through whatever dance Mamoru’s decided they should share. Kaito is happy to go along with it, the music is something vibrant and uniquely theirs. Kagami and Ariga certainly don’t hear it. That’s fine. Kaito listens measure by measure, glides through move by move. Searching for any sign of last night’s pain.

Mamoru seems to have come through just fine.

It’s nice to feel useful.

While it had hurt to see Mamoru so upset, it was familiar. Kaito knows exactly what it takes to face that kind of delayed hurt. Doors being flung open on ugly clutter stored in overstuffed closets. Everything falling down, being hit on the head, in the heart. But it all needed to be cleaned out. The pain and dust is temporary. All a part of saving what’s valuable, throwing away what’s not, and making room for more. Kaito knows it’s so much harder when a layer of dust makes it difficult to touch anything without choking on the clouds.

A little bit of help goes a long way.

Some of the more painful things were safer when held up by Kaito, waiting for Mamoru to say whether they would stay or go. They’d worked through fears and bitterness that even Mamoru hadn’t realized he’d hung onto so long. The result is cleaner, lighter. But also a bit empty. Mamoru will have to spend days and weeks fitting new things into places once occupied by that film grief leaves on everything.

Hands catch Kaito’s wrists and bend his arms around until he’s locked in some sort of hold, surprisingly firm given the more mild temperament of today’s spar.

“So I win, right?” The smugness is mostly ineffective given the laugh underneath.

“If you consider that a match, then yes.” Honestly, what Kaito’s trapped in is a little too much like a hug to be considered practical for use in the field, but Mamoru has always been fond of holding on. Kaito will allow him to count it as a win. A small prize for all of his courage the previous night.

Ariga and Kagami’s match is still ongoing.

The rhythm of their fight is off. Not that fighting is ever particularly smooth, but watching the two of them now... They move at different speeds, in mind and body. Kaito watches every motion they make, he’d love to video it sometime. To deconstruct the way Ariga’s every move is so steady and so planned. No matter how swiftly he attacks there is a deliberateness, a sense that Ariga knows where he is and where his opponent is seconds before either of them move.

Kagami is something more like a whirling storm that can’t decide between rain, hail, or both. He’s chaos pulling any and all into his path. It seems effective enough for him. There’s something strangely poetic about his complete disregard for pattern or structure.

Ultimately, Ariga is a bit too much for Kagami to overcome. Kaito knows there’s experience Ariga has that none of them have even begun to scratch the surface of. Not Kaito, or Mamoru (or Mamiya) have seen down to the foundation of that strength. Experience is hard won, but it does its fair share of work towards winning.

Kagami ends up on his back with Ariga’s gun to his forehead, but he never stops smiling. There’s something to be said for that, a slight insanity maybe. Though, for all the things Kaito can count against him, the joy he takes in excitement and adrenaline isn’t precisely one of them. His recklessness, absolutely. There’s a cost to that, that Ariga or anyone else he’ll have to work with should not have to pay.

But here in training it’s difficult for Kaito to be angry at someone’s happiness. However strange… or inappropriately timed it may be.

Mamoru snorts beside him. He’d expected nothing less than Ariga’s victory. He still takes pride in having had Ariga as his temporary Messiah. Friends are important to Mamoru, he’s given up some wonderful ones to be here. People don’t replace other people. There’s a uniqueness to every encounter. Ariga’s been a worthwhile experience for both Kaito and Mamoru. Someone worthy of friend. Someone who’s still hurting, and in need of help. Kaito has worked hard on himself, has held Mamoru through a purge, and now it’s only fair Ariga gets his turn.

“Hey,” Kaito nudges Mamoru with his elbow, “I’m going to talk to him.”

It takes a second of unease for Mamoru to swallow the aftertaste of old doubts, “Yeah sure. I’ll see you for dinner, though?”

“Of course.” Sharing a meal with Mamoru is always one of his favorite parts of the day.

Whether they chat nonstop or just sit in peace. It’s fine. Kaito enjoys watching Mamoru eat and drink. His habits haven’t changed since they were children. He’s still amused by little things like how Mamoru always grabs mugs from the side without the handle, and how he’ll eat the parts of his salad by color. Starting with the lightest shades and working his way through.

Mamoru takes both of their training gear, he’s probably off to dump it in the laundry. Sometimes Kaito forgets just how efficient Mamoru has gotten about household chores over the years. He’s partly at fault for that. God knows how little of his own laundry or dishes Kaito did when he was locked in his own head. When Mamoru would finally drag him to bed, he’d wake up with the place definitely cleaner than he’d remembered. Cleaning is not a bad habit. It will help keep Mamoru’s mind off what Kaito knows is still a concern for him. This conversation with Ariga is necessary, but necessity says nothing of ease.

“Ariga, Kagami” Kaito heads over to where Ariga’s finishing up with Kagami.

“Yuuri?” It’s not surprise, but it is. Ariga still seems to get snagged on parts of his past that Kaito thinks must be especially sharp. It’s hard enough to have needles in your own mind, but when they reach out of you to where they hold others away… That isn’t so easy to overcome. Those points are hard to dull.

Kaito’s not afraid of getting cut a bit for Ariga.

“Where’s Shirasaki? Doesn’t he break out in a rash if you guys get too far apart?” Kagami’s smile is begging for a rise. He must enjoy the feeling of others wanting to strangle him. To each their own.

“He has things to take care of.” Kaito’s temper is not immune to flairs, but this kind of jab is easy to sidestep. “But I’d like to borrow Ariga, actually.”

“Sure.” Ariga cuts off any further snark from Kagami, “What do you need?”

“Can we go for a walk? I just want to talk to you.”

Ariga understands. Kaito knows he does. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Kagami glances between them, if he can read the situation the the only sign he gives is the crunch of his lollipop being reduced to sugary dust. “Have fun you two. If I see Shirasaki I’ll tell him to try not to be too jealous.”

Kaito vaguely regrets any early thoughts of Kagami not being so obnoxious. He’s almost tolerable when silent. It’s when he opens his mouth that it all becomes clear again.

“I’d avoid Mamoru if I were you.” He feels obligated to offer the advice. Mamoru’s temper takes awhile to build, but once it does- Kagami doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking for.

He doesn’t seem to care either. Some people lack a sense of self preservation. Some out of tragedy, others out of a sense of fun bent so far around itself that it doesn’t recognize danger.

Ariga shakes his head when the door chases Kagami’s back, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” How many times has he heard and shared that sentence now? “He’s a handful.”

It’s unfortunate that Ariga has to try to piece together a relationship with someone so disinterested in such. Connecting to Kagami is like trying to build a sand castle out of the ashes left by Mamiya. What remains is too fine, too fleeting to hold shape. Maybe there’s a firmer base for them under it all. But Ariga will never reach it if Kagami doesn’t help him dig. It’s hard to define Messiah, if you can’t even find a common understanding of the first letter.

Kaito’s worried about him. Mamiya gutted something out of Ariga. Mamoru sees it too. And so Kaito never holds back Mamoru’s attacks on Kagami. The anger is justified, and Ariga could use the protection from that downpour of disorder Kagami carries around. A little rain never hurt, but standing in it until it soaks to the bone isn’t healthy. Bonds are important. Ariga is determined not to let another partner fall victim to himself or others. But Kaito hopes Ariga won’t drown himself in apologies offered in replacement for missed chances and killer silence.

“What did you need to talk to me about.” Ariga leads, and Kaito follows. Halls twist around secrets of both the Church, and the cadets that make up its breath. Conversations like this one will always seem viciously raw in what they expose to walls that have heard both countless lies and also tremendous honesty in it’s most base form.

They sit on a couch, far and away from where usual traffic flows. “I should probably start with this; you know Mamoru and I care, right?”

Care is a foreign word for many of the people here. Ariga is no exception. He tends to jerk away from it. Barely perceptible to most, but Kaito sees it. Feels that motion tug on something in himself. It’s not that Ariga is not capable of giving and receiving care and kindness, but matching the name to those actions is hard.

Something has torn the labels off of basic emotions and put the names of guns and ammunition in their place. Kaito thinks Kaidou-san must have noticed, with the way he would look at Ariga handling a weapon every once in awhile. Mamoru had mentioned Ariga was almost too perfect of a roommate, boxing himself away into silence after the use of a mission. No interruptions, no leaving laundry piled up, or waking him up at ungodly hours. That tells Kaito things Ariga has never spoken.

Ariga’s eyes look like they want to widen, but even that reaction is disciplined into inaction, “I appreciate the concern.”

Stiff. Not intentionally rude, but walls flying up to box out Kaito’s unasked questions. This is a trained reaction as well.

“You don’t have to do that.” Kaito doesn’t bother to elaborate, “We’ve been through a lot, the three of us. And I thought you and I could help each other.”

“How?” Questions sometimes have a funny way of sounding nothing like such.

Ariga knows. Three letters meant to ask a question instead shape a name they both know. One that the Church has covered up as nothing more than a blotch on their record of cadets. A death with a little more mess than they would have found convenient. That pisses Kaito off in ways not much can. He never rebels in oblivious ways. Never overt. Subtly is his speed. He will not cause a scene, yell, or bang on walls and desks. But he’ll always keep that name, and everything attached to it. The good and the bad.

Mamiya did many things worthy of tremendous anger, but Kaito has forgiven him. Has given that forgiveness as a means of accepting the totality of Mamiya. What Kaito knew about him and what he didn’t.

“What you had to do,” Kaito pauses. Ariga is stoic, but pain is so rarely invisible. Not when you know all its favorite places to hide. “that was really hard. And it’s not fair to expect you to just put that aside because they don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yuuri.” It’s rare to see Ariga emotional. But they’re going somewhere where there’s so much wrong, and so many memories of missed chances. It stings. But it’s necessary. Ariga’s hands tighten around each other, and his shoulders jerk into something between attention and withdrawal. “I’m ok.”

“You’re not.” Ariga startles at his directness. Kaito is good at reading people, working around their feelings to make them comfortable. But the only way to help Ariga is to cut open the infected areas he’d sewn closed prematurely without proper care for himself.

The cut bleeds silence while Ariga leans into the back of the couch, eyes squeezing shut. Kaito’s certain he’s hiding tears. Not the visible kind, but maybe Ariga doesn’t know how to put pain into water and salt. There are things that can be broken to block the pairing of the body’s reactions to emotions. It’s not uncommon in those trained to kill. Ariga strikes him as very well trained, and very broken. For as well as he performs in the field, he fails miserably at basic expressions of his feelings and accepting those of others. Kaito’s chest aches with everything Ariga is trying not to feel. It’s nearly enough to double him over.

Then Ariga speaks, slowly, hesitantly, “I failed as a Messiah. I didn’t think I needed him, and I never bothered to get to know him. Not really.” And now he’s dead. Tremendous opportunities lost.

“So did I.” There is nothing new they can gain of Mamiya from what they both gave up. But they can maybe share what they both have left. And share the weight of their perceived mistakes. Ariga is not alone. Kaito has always had Mamoru for better or for worse (they sometimes joke how the Messiah arrangement is somewhat spousal), but Ariga has never had something that constant. Not as far as Kaito knows. But he’s not alone now. And Kaito will convince him of that.

“You didn’t.” It’s hard to argue with Ariga when he digs his heels in. “Not the way I did. You had reasons.”

“And so did you.” This is one discussion Kaito will not back down from. “Mine were no more valid just because I was sick.”

He hurt Mamiya because he had been hurt, and angry, and scared to be without Mamoru. None of that had been fair to Mamiya. Not excusable by whatever justification Ariga’s getting at. There is nothing that he did that made him better, or less at fault than Ariga. And yet neither of them can take all the blame for what must have been a lifetime of suffering.

Still, Kaito hadn’t done Mamiya many favors. Maybe, towards the end of their partnership, there had been something that could have helped. Something that could have slowly started to tug away at all the lies and loneliness Mamiya wore. If he had worked harder, sooner.. Maybe they could have gotten the bandages off so that Kaito could have seen the cause of Mamiya’s bleed. You can’t treat wounds you can’t see.

It still might not have been enough.

Whatever Mamiya had drowned in was kilometers deep, darker than any of them could have guessed. It’s hard to drag someone back to the surface when your lungs still ache from everything you’d once deprived them of.

It’s the same for Ariga. Ariga who is looking at him as though he doesn’t know whether to run or fight. Kaito has trapped him against memories and reality. There’s nowhere he can turn where he won’t run into something sharp. This isn’t the kindest part of healing, but Ariga will not hurt him in any sort of retaliation. Kaito sees him steady himself with one breath then two. He would have rather Ariga speak without thinking. Being honest is easier when you don’t stop to look over the edge first.

Ariga seems to thrive off doing everything and nothing that Kaito expects him to, “He had the chance to kill me.”

Kaito had heard of that, but never directly from Ariga. Just a shocked murmur Ariga had passed to Mamoru, who of course carried it to Kaito. That he repeats it now, calmer, clearer, tells Kaito that this is a sticking spot for Ariga. How had Mamiya not taken the chance to kill him? How had he failed to capitalize on the opportunity to deliver death to Ariga who had never given him a reason to grant something as generous as life?

“Mamoru told me.” He takes Ariga’s hand. His fingers are stiff and Kaito has to help bend them around his hand.

“I felt the gun, but it was shaking.” So Ariga had batted Mamiya’s arm in a moment of hesitation and freed himself. If it had been anyone else they would have had pull the trigger the second Ariga moved.

Bullets are faster than hands.

“I don’t think he ever really wanted to kill you.” He has never spent a minute in Mamiya’s mind, or a single second in his heart. But he’s sure of this. Kaito has killed. He has watched Mamoru kill even more. It’s not as hard as it should be when the line between friend and enemy is clearly drawn.

But for Mamiya nothing had been anything except for everything. Definitions were stretched to the point of breaking down into useless heaps of words and letters. Thrown out with everything else Mamiya could never make use of.

“You don’t hold a gun to someone’s head unless you want them to die.” Ariga nearly laughs, but the sound snaps off. Too brittle to withstand the weight of air.

“But you said it yourself, he didn’t follow through.”

“He was losing his mind. I took advantage of his distraction.”

“It wasn’t you he wanted to kill.”

Ariga watches, waits. If Kaito looked close enough he could skim a request not to continue from the shadows under Ariga’s eyes.

“He wanted to die.” It’s hard to say, rushing out and taking something besides his breath with it. It crashes into Ariga, words he probably knew but never wanted to touch. There’s danger in holding someone else’s scarred remains.

“Well he got his wish.” If time were measured by things endured rather than uniform increments, Kaito and Ariga would both be old enough to join Mamiya.

But it’s the guilt he can hear that binds up Kaito’s throat and rips at fragile things in his chest. This is why Mamoru was afraid for him. Grief is powerful. Pain is powerful. They’re so much worse when they belong to someone else. Specifically someone you care about, and Kaito cares a lot. And so he beats himself with Ariga’s agony, and wrenches his insides around crystallized tears that have never reflected the light of day.

A hand on his shoulder helps guide him out of Ariga, and back into himself. Into the self that has survived, and is loved. A safer place than where Ariga is now. Kaito needs to drag Ariga out of the fire, but if he returns home to Mamoru covered in ash his Messiah won’t be pleased. But Mamoru will understand. He’ll wipe him off and ruffle his hair. He can survive this for Ariga’s sake.

“Yuuri, are you alright?” Ariga pulls his hand away, but the concern stays.

“I’m fine, but you’re not.” It’s true. His spike of pain had been what he borrowed from Ariga. So he tries to smile for Ariga instead. People find comfort in happiness. In being assured they haven’t done anything wrong or terrible. Ariga did not hurt him. Mamiya did not hurt him. Whatever had hurt them, hurt him.

“What do you want me to say?” It’s not quite giving up. Ariga is tired, but there’s enough fight there that he could shove Kaito away if he so chose.

Loneliness and hurt are funny. They make struggles and strain into companions. Better that than being alone in emptiness. In this moment, Kaito is only as much as Ariga makes him. Still, that’s enough to thaw something that lacks the strength to climb into Ariga’s voice, but it manages to drip into his eyes instead.

“Whatever you need to.” As many or as few words as Ariga has rotting inside him.

Kaito will catch and clean them all. Under the corrosion there are emotions and memories that Ariga has let become coated in toxicity. Some planted there by others, some of his own creation.

Kaito knows both kinds all too well. It becomes impossible to separate who started what. And it doesn’t matter once it eats away enough that there’s just the shapeless mass of a broken identity left.

Seeing Ariga, trying to feel what Ariga doesn’t want to… It makes him grateful that Mamoru had beared so much of the unpleasantness of this process for him. Mamoru never complained about the burns on his hands every time he had to wipe away the poison Kaito bled. He never once refused to touch Kaito, even when his skin was so translucent that Mamoru must have been able to see every hallucination and denial crawling in his veins.

Kaito has always wanted to share kindness. Since he was a child he’s known that watching people smile is one of his favorite views. Giving can get expensive though. That coupled with the blow to the head Haruto became, and Kaito had been in danger of losing more than he had to give. He couldn’t even grant himself a sound mind or a sense of forgiveness. And if he hadn’t had the support he did, when he did. Maybe the Yuuri Kaito who’s capable of so much empathy would have died.

Yet all he’d wanted, even in the midst of that fall, was to love and protect. He needed his brother. To love him. He needed Mamoru around. To love him. He needed to keep them in whatever safe world he could create for them, spun from his sickness. It would be worth striping himself to the bone to make something worthy of them.

But then what would have remained of him? If he had given away every single shred because they deserved him more than he deserved himself.

All he would have had left to his name would have been nothing worth saving.

It’s not the same for Ariga, but it is.

This kind of trauma always acts on the center first. Burns the core out so that by the time the damage is visible there’s not much left to do save for trying to tear everything down and start again.

He doesn’t know what Ariga must have looked like standing steady on an unbroken foundation. Now he’s shimmed up by experience and duty. Braced by some vague affinity for life and a talent for death. It wouldn’t take much of a wind to destroy him now.

Ariga cannot die.

Not after Mamiya. Every shade of him had been torn and burned. Dead, dead, dead. But he left a fine layer of ash left on every surface they interact with.

“I miss him.” Sometimes that ash gets disturbed. Ariga breaths on it, and it’s given a second life when they inhale the gritty cloud. It doesn’t choke, but it sits in lungs until Ariga is ready to breathe it back out. “I have no right to.”

It’s hard to argue with logic he’s used on himself. If they knew so little about Mamiya as a person, as a life that was so tired of its own existence, then there might not be any grounds for them to miss him. Who was he? How can you miss someone you only thought you knew? Missing a fake identity isn’t the same as missing a person.

But that doesn’t seem right either.

There is plenty of validity in what they did know about Mamiya. Even the lies he presented were a truth in their own right. What they hid and what they allowed, that says something. It just requires more work to understand. Work that throughout Mamiya’s life no one seemed to feel he was worth. Or even if they did they interpreted it all wrong, and Mamiya still gained nothing of the understanding he was dying for.

“You don’t need the right to miss someone.” Kaito is confident in this. Missing, mourning, they belong to the person still alive. You don’t need permission for your own feelings.

“Shirasaki never mentioned you being this insistent.” Ariga doesn’t exactly smile. But it’s close enough that for Ariga it might be some expression of fondness. None of his thoughts ever seem to fully reach the surface. He scolds them back into line as soon as they try to step forward. Any break in blankness is a victory for Kaito.

Although… “You two talked about me?

It shouldn’t be a surprised. With the way he had behaved when their temporary Messiah were assigned, Mamoru definitely would have wanted to try to explain. To make Ariga see that he’s not just rude or downright unstable. Mamoru’s protection of him has always gone beyond Kaito himself.

Ariga must have understood, at least somewhat. He had held Mamoru back more than once from intervening between him and Mamiya. Maybe their methods differed, but both were trying to help fix a partnership that could have backfired horrifically. The way it did backfire once Kaito was exchanged for Ariga.

That’s not for this moment. Right now he’s focused on what might have been said. If anything Mamoru shared about him could help Ariga. They must have discussed him in some length. He doesn’t mind that thought. But he’s curious.

“Shirasaki talked more than anything. I listened.” The pat he gives Kaito’s knee is a surprise. It shouldn’t be considering Ariga is very careful with each action he chooses. Every second is planned, it has a goal. The pat draws Kaito’s attention down, and momentarily away from the lump Ariga forces back down his throat. “You two… You’re ideal Messiah.”

Kaito laughs, “We’ve had a lot of practice.”

Humor is the only thing that can stop him from crying. The unsaid comparison is too frigid to touch directly. It’s not Ariga resenting them, nor does he sound particularly jealous. But he’s left locked outside of what he perceives as a perfect partnership. And it’s cold outside that door. Kaito wants to let him in.

“I’ve known Mamoru since we were five years old.” Maybe Ariga already knows that. Mamoru might have told him.

It’s not particularly important information. It won’t help Ariga load his gun any quicker or shoot any more accurately. It won’t do much of anything, except maybe remind him that they were all kids once. That Kaito and Mamoru have had so many years to work on them that it’s entirely unfair to compare that relationship to Ariga and Mamiya or even Kaito and Mamiya. And even time doesn’t reveal everything. Some people are phenomenal at locking away secrets without ever becoming sick from them.

Mamiya was not one of those people. He had been dying before Ariga’s bullet had ever met him.

And that bothers Kaito, and it bothers Ariga. That for as much as Sakura trains them to deal in death, nobody noticed Mamiya wasn’t planning on investing in life much longer.

That lack of insight is a failure. And Ariga doesn’t deal well with failure. Kaito could make guesses as to what kind of trained perfectionism that is. But for now there’s more he should say. Ariga’s waiting, tension building back up with every moment Kaito allows to be filled with silence.

“Mamoru is ridiculous to argue with. He’s so stubborn.” The surprise that the sudden criticism draws catches Ariga from falling back into grave dirt and gunpowder. “He’ll clean our whole room but can’t remember to put the cap back on the toothpaste. If I don’t eat everything on my plate he assumes I must be terribly sick. If I have to go to the medical bay for anything he drives the nurses nuts by hovering.”

“Yuuri?” _Where the hell is this coming from…_

“I’m sure I annoy him too.” Kaito smiles to himself, and then to Ariga, “But I would miss his habits. They’re comforting.”

“I think I understand.” Or at least he’s trying to. Ariga’s hands curl and uncurl against his pant legs. He has nervous ticks that Kaito never noticed before. He might even be biting the inside of his cheek. Concentrated on something that shouldn’t require so much thought. For everything Ariga is good at, unconditional companionship is not one of them. But that’s not necessarily his own fault.

Sharing a brief list of Mamoru’s less charming qualities, that are somehow still endearing, is an odd tactic even for Kaito. It’s not as efficient as any program he’s written, or as precise in its goal as the questions asked by the psychologist he’s seen. But demystifying their relationship has to count for something for Ariga. They’re all human. Mamoru and Kaito are not immune to arguments. But you can fight without anyone dying. Without anyone even being seriously hurt.

Ariga’s experiences have not been anything typical. That’s heartbreaking.

“All I’m trying to say is that no relationship is perfect. It doesn’t mean you didn’t care.” _You just didn’t realize how much, or how to share it in time._

Timing is a forgivable mistake. The cruelty not intended, but rather nudged forward second by second. Not by Ariga’s will, but instead by crippled understanding grabbing onto old defenses. A last resort not nearly enough to compensate for the years and years of connection missing from both Ariga and Mamiya’s lives. They were reading and speaking different languages. Different, yet similar sounding enough that they both thought they might have known. They didn’t know.

That was more lethal than any single fiber of Ariga’s nature.

Mamiya had been angry and in agony. Yet he didn’t take the opportunity to punish Ariga for that. He never held him entirely accountable for what was neither and both of their faults.

“He used to fall asleep with music on.” Ariga stops after almost every word. The effort it takes to roll the lead off his tongue uses muscles that have never helped Ariga win a fight. They’re helping him now. “He played his violin at strange hours.”

Mamiya’s musical inclination is no secret. Kaito doesn’t need to be told he enjoyed it. But it’s another regret Ariga and Kaito share. Not fully appreciating the sound of that talent when they heard it. Not listening carefully enough for everything that was strung up in notes shared in place of conversation. Mamiya didn’t speak much about himself, but his violin bow yelled it.

And Kaito had hated the sound once, because it didn’t sound like Mamoru.

Ariga never disliked it, quite the opposite if some of what he’s heard is accurate. But he never once told Mamiya what those sounds meant to him.

They both denied him in different ways.

“I remember that too.” Kaito is here, and he has memories similar to Ariga’s. They don’t have much, but maybe they have enough.

It takes Ariga a moment to decide whether or not continue. His head lowers until Kaito brushes their shoulders together. Physical support sometimes works better. No words or expectations. Just another presence waiting for whatever Ariga needs.

“He used to wish me a good morning and a good night.” It’s simple the things. The kind you never considering how much you’ll miss until you don’t hear them anymore. The absence of the words themselves is less devastating than their owner’s voice ceasing to exist. “I didn’t always say it back.”

There is nothing Kaito can say to replace everything Ariga didn’t say. Silence wears many masks. The one it leers at Ariga with is a grotesque shape reminiscent of his own face crowned by guilt. The only one who can strip that ugliness down is Ariga, it’s his own creation to destroy. But Kaito can offer support. He’s unsure of Ariga’s boundaries, but rubbing his back doesn’t seem too invasive. There is nothing but care and concern, and Ariga doesn’t stop him.

There’s a slight tremor under the circles his palms press into Ariga’s shoulder blades.

“He was relieved when I killed him.”

It’s the first time Kaito has heard Ariga’s voice shake. The first time he’s seen his eyes look in danger of spilling over. Being allowed to see fragility is a privilege he doesn’t take lightly. And the mental image he receives from Ariga hurts. Mamiya taking comfort in the end of his life while it clawed Ariga, while it indiscriminately ripped through scar tissue and areas not yet marred. One able to rest, the other doomed to sleepless nights. Mamiya getting what he hoped for, Ariga being crushed under everything he could no longer hope for. Things he could have never known he might have wanted, destroyed.

Messiah.

That lauded bond is nothing more than what two people are create. Sakura cannot build it for them. Cannot fix tragedy with a label that promises salvation, but offers no avenue for it other than a person. People aren’t capable of absolving each other of their pasts. But some pairs overcome the manipulation of the Church. They find something genuine in fake promises.

Or they find nothing. And both are left feeling cheated and inadequate. Did they fail or did the institution?

It’s too much for Ariga to bear that broken promise alone.

So Kaito hugs him. And hugs whatever’s left of Mamiya in the man who’d been the last one to see him alive.

Ariga stiffens. His arms are awkward against Kaito’s sides. The resistance melts second by second. Each ragged breath sounding more and more like a sob.

There is no question what Ariga is seeing.

Mamoru had seen the body afterwards. Kaito hadn’t wanted to. He had no desire to ruin what he still has of Mamiya with the image of purple ruffles and blood embracing the corpse of one thousands dead ends running out of time at once.

But Ariga had done more than see it. He had been the one to chase life out with lead. The shaking in his shoulders tells Kaito to squeeze tighter.

“You’re amazing.” And Kaito means it. If he had been in that situation, if god forbid, Mamoru had been asking him for death… He’s not sure he could have done it. Not without taking himself out soon after. The guilt would be crushing. Utter devastation his imagination can’t begin to fathom. How would he live knowing what he took from the person who means everything to him? While Ariga and Mamiya lack the history, they were all the Church had given each other. And that wrecked them both. A terrible mismatch, they both paid for. Ariga continues to pay for.

But Ariga is living, breathing, getting up every morning. That’s incredible.

Tears don’t last forever. Even the dry ones run out energy to draw from. The source of grief may not be over, but the time to cry over it is. His arms slide down and away from Ariga’s sides. He’s slow to pull completely away. There’s always the risk of collapse in the vulnerable moments after. Many nights after Mamiya, Kaito and Mamoru had held on to each other until cracks started to fuse. Nobody else needs to shatter. It might have been presumptuous to have held Ariga like that, but there was no other option left. And this still wasn’t quite enough. But it was something.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” He never expected thanks. Not because Ariga is ungrateful, but he didn’t do much of anything more than listen and share. Hardly above and beyond what one should receive from a friend. And Ariga is certainly a friend.

“You don’t have to thank me. But you’re welcome.” Not long ago he wouldn’t have been able to stand up to something like this. His own weaknesses would have rendered him useless to Ariga. All the times he had been told he had to help himself first. He thinks he understands now. “Oh, and Ariga. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to call me Kaito. And Mamoru would be fine if you dropped the Shirasaki.”

It’s not much. But their given names are something. Mamoru’s name isn’t his to give, but Mamoru has always cared about Ariga. There won’t be any anger there. After everything they’ve lost recently, and everything they’ve shared in that, the distance between the three of them doesn’t seem large enough to warrant the formality.

The gesture is enough for Ariga. He shakes his head, smiling. Barely there. But Kaito can feel himself relax at the tiny upturn of lips, so it counts.

“Shir- Mamoru is waiting for you isn’t he?”

“Oh, dinner. I should get back.” Kaito glances at the clock then back to Ariga, “But we care, don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” Short and to the point.

Very Ariga. Enough like himself that they can part with Kaito feeling a little more at ease that he did something worthwhile. That what he asked Ariga to endure had ultimately healed more than it hurt. If nothing else they’d opened a pressure valve on everything vaulted up in what Church doesn’t want to them to say.

Kaito doesn’t ask for permission to speak. Ariga shouldn’t either.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

He’s not precisely late, but Mamoru is always early.

Dinner is already on the glass coffee table that Mamoru has covered with a sheet serving the purpose of a tablecloth. It’s not often they smuggle food from the cafeteria into their room, but Mamoru has gotten pretty adept at utilizing his Sakura jacket’s storage for things other than guns and equipment.

There’s a candle burning on their bedside table. It’s soothing, how comfortable Mamoru makes their room feel. By what he does, sure. But even more so just by existing in every corner of it. The candle smells like lavender, but the room smells like life.

Every time he steps through the door it’s a homecoming. “Mamoru?”

“Right here,” Mamoru steps out of their bathroom dressed in pajamas, “How did it go?”

Nonchalance has never been Mamoru’s strong suit. The fight to keep the anxiety out of his voice is an honest attempt. Kaito appreciates it. If Mamoru didn’t worry at least a little then he wouldn’t be Mamoru. It’s his brand of care. Somewhat overbearing, but exactly what Kaito has needed many times. It’s hard to get too lost when Mamoru is always holding him, for both their sake.

“It was nice, I think.” He didn’t break Ariga further. He hopes it helped. But getting through to him had been difficult. Ariga is one puzzle Kaito thinks he started to solve, but some pieces just won’t line up. It’s as though all the pieces are black. He can’t tell what picture he’s supposed to be putting together. Shapes and edges are his only clues.

“But?” The tension is less concealed now. Mamoru shifts his weight from foot to foot. The urge to crowd Kaito until he spills everything that happens must be heavy.

Keeping it from Mamoru is heavier. Sharing is something he needs. Dredging up old regrets. Cutting himself up on Ariga’s spines. Ripping his kindness into bandages. It’s messy. It always it. Friends are worth it, but he feels so full he’s empty. So much displaced by what he holds for Ariga. Is that Ariga’s ache pushing on his gut, or his own memories shoving everything down into his fingers and toes? The majority of his body is ringing with what Ariga misses.

Unloading some of that would be nice. Just to put those weights down and give his muscles a break. They’re not as used to carrying that load as Ariga is. The soreness is new. He’ll be stronger for it. But it takes time.

So for now he opens his arms and waits.

It takes half a second for Mamoru to process the request, a quarter more of a second for him to fold Kaito into his arms. His hands slide around Kaito’s waist and back. Mamoru curls his fingers into sore spots, and Kaito can breathe a little deeper the more pressure Mamoru puts on his lungs. Hugging Mamoru never gets any less comforting. The muscles under his fingers and forearms are as familiar as what he sees in the mirror each morning. Pressing chest to chest is nice too. Heartbeats not synchronized, but that’s fine. They fill in the spaces between each other perfectly.

“Are you alright?” Untangling is harder than coming together. Mamoru doesn’t manage it completely. His hands stay on Kaito’s shoulders.

“I’m ok. It was good, for both of us. But,” His hands rest over Mamoru’s. “I’m tired is all. And hungry.”

Mamoru shoves him in the general direction of their table, “Well eat, then you can sleep.”

“Let me change first.” Leather is heavy. Too heavy, too stifling. His whole outfit is grimy with sweat and memories.

“Fine. But hurry up. You get even pickier when the food is cold.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He might have stuck his tongue out, but Mamoru grabs neatly folded clothes off the end of his bed and tosses them towards him. They’re soft and clean. Exactly what Kaito wants to be wearing. His Messiah plans two steps ahead of him when it comes to self care. There’s a part of him that wonders if someday Mamoru will ease up on what he thinks he has to do for Kaito, or if it’s not a matter of having to at all. Rather they just do everything they can for each other, because they want to. Because there are only so many ways to say _you’re important to me_ , and sometimes sentences get tired before bodies and actions.

Changing in front of Mamoru would be an option. They’ve always been comfortable with each other’s bodies, long before they slept together. Wounds and sickness have required mutual care and some compromising positions. But Kaito’s curious if anything would be different. If Mamoru would swallow and look away, or watch. Would his skin prickle, or would it be strange? These are questions his natural inclination towards knowledge wouldn’t mind answers to. But now isn’t a good time. So he heads into their bathroom instead.

He’s used to their heavy coats and black underclothes by now. He knows exactly what every surface feels like when contact is mediated by thin, yet durable gloves. Grips appropriately placed for weapons and combat, but not great for holding onto skin or sharing warmth. It’s a relief to peel off his work clothes, such a job that being in Sakura is. It’s more than a job in the way it consumes the entirety of their lives, and places demands on what they can say and think, who they can care for. So Kaito always relishes in striping off the standard cadet clothing after each day. The lounge wear Mamoru picked out for him is kinder.

It’s not stiff or smothering. It cuddles up to him like old days spent with blankets and movies or video games. The pants drape against his legs, but don’t ask him to walk towards death. The shirt is loose fitting, subject to his will and motion. Not the other way around. It’s freeing. No matter how temporary. Or how sad it is that something as simple as cotton and silly patterns can make him feel like he still has a say in who he is.

For everything he recalled today that he’s not proud of, he’s proud that when he joins Mamoru at their dinner table Mamoru is all smiles. That someone takes genuine joy in his existence is a wonderful thing. It never stops amazing him. For as much work as he can manipulate symbols and numbers into producing for him, none of that can make you worthy of someone's care. Nothing of that nature can make you likable, or kind, or anything anyone wants to be near.

It’s Kaito himself who Mamoru is happy with. If he can make Mamoru happy, he’s happy. If he’s happy, he can make others happy.

There are so many parts of returning to reality that have been honestly terrifying. But this has been one of the best surprises. How much he missed the way feelings of companionship build and mesh. Warm, and growing in intricate designs so interwoven that his holograms and hallucinations could not even begin to represent the complexity.

“You look more comfortable now.” Mamoru pushes his plate towards him. There’s more food than he would have taken for himself, just like he knew there would be.

“Yeah, thank you.” How Mamoru managed to keep dinner warm while he waited Kaito isn’t sure. “I’m sorry I ran a little late.”

“It’s alright. I would have come gotten you soon.” Kaito’s proud of the restraint Mamoru showed in not seeking him out the moment he wasn’t back when expected. They’re getting there. They’ve always trusted each other, but that trust is taking on new forms.

They can eat in silence or in sound. Either is perfect, plenty is still exchange when their mouths are otherwise occupied. Smiling at each other behind chopsticks, or laughing quietly before sipping on water. It’s mundane. In all the ways Sakura tries not to be.

If the lights weren’t harshly fluorescence, and the walls weren’t dark and windowless… Then he might be able to convince himself that this is a place like any other home. Where they could work any other jobs. That they can still achieve that feeling of normalcy when the atmosphere around them coils and snaps at the very word, that’s impressive. Mamoru is everyday for Kaito. As constant as any unchanging value he has typed into formulas. Mamoru is always plugged into his life, no matter how much any others numbers, real or imaginary, shift around.

The resulting total is hard to wrap his head around sometimes. It catches on his clothes, in his throat, and in his chest. With increasing frequency, he finds himself bubbling with comfort and contentment just watching Mamoru do something as simple as reaching for a napkin. And every once in awhile a bubble pops with something sharper, but sweeter. A prick then a flutter.

Maybe he should question that. New feelings are usually worth examining. Whether his body or his mind has a new interest, he should probably take account of that. But it’s not really a concerning response, so he leaves it for now. There are worse things to be than happy. Because that’s what he is.

If he strips away death and betrayal. If he boils off espionage and violence. If he tucks away personal failures and chances taken from him by force. Those things are all not a part of him. They can be removed through various channels. And when they’re absent, he’s nothing less than happy. He has enough.

Mamoru is not something he could tease out of himself. There’s no amount of pulling, pushing, or shredding that could remove that presence from him.

“What did you guys talk about?” The answer is obvious. Or it should be. But Mamoru is as cautious as always. Testing, prodding. Waiting to see if Kaito hurt anything. If he extended himself too far, and needs coiled backed into himself.

“Mamiya.” The inhalation of breath is subtle. But loud enough.

“I figured.” Mamoru takes a pause from eating, instead arranging his remaining scraps of food in order of nutrition groups. “Was he ok?”

“It was difficult. But he tried.” That was all Kaito can ask. An honest effort to be kind to memories and to himself.

Mamoru struggles around words and questions. Kaito can see them pass from the fidgeting in his hands to the slight twitch tugging on his lips. “And?”

“We talked about what happened, and he told me what he misses about Mamiya.” Details belong to Ariga. Mamoru is more than welcome to Kaito’s words, always. But what Ariga shared with him is to be filtered until Ariga gives the ok. Sharing is difficult. One step, one person, at a time. “ I hugged him.”

“Oh yeah? It must have been.. Hard.” Mamoru’s hand reaches across the table resting palm up. It requires no thought to place his hand in Mamoru’s. Their fingers close around each other. “Are you alright?”

Mamoru cringes at his own question, but Kaito squeezes his hand. The protectiveness isn’t a bad thing. And in this case it’s welcome. It had been a challenge. For a few agonizing moments he had been staring through a glass floor. It would have been so easy to stomp down with the frustration of everything Mamiya had left him, had left Argia. So easy to shatter progress, and fall through a floor of windows open to nowhere, full of nobody.

But he didn’t break anything.

Ariga had anchored himself, and Kaito had fought through. Ariga’s pain is a scary place that Ariga has more experience dealing with than Kaito. But he can’t stay there indefinitely, and Kaito wishes for the hundredth time that Kagami will wake up one morning, really look at Ariga, and know. Know he needs help. He needs a stable partner and more than that. He needs a messiah who will fulfill all those promises not because the Church says so, but because he wants to. Because that person is so tremendously important to every morning and every night, that giving them the strength to cycle day and night becomes paramount because it’s not sunrise until their eyes open.

Kaito has that person of his own free will. And he wants that for Ariga. It hurts that Ariga is enduring several lifetimes worth of deaths. The brief glimpse Kaito got today reminds him of driving by the scene a horrific accident. Trying to slow down enough to make out details and causes, but ultimately only being left with the knowledge that there was devastation. That someone is probably dead.

“I’m ok, Mamoru.” He is now. “It got a bit emotional. But I expected that.”

“Do you need another hug?” It’s meant only half as a joke. They both laugh.

“After we clean up, definitely.” Connection and contact are cravings Kaito is subject to. Everyday is poised to take something they can never get back. They’re surrounded by greed that picks out the brightest parts of their days and squirrels them anyway with everything else it steals from the kind of people who are left with so little that they end up here.

So any opportunity to hang onto Mamoru, even offered in jest, is worth accepting. Vaguely he wonders if hugging Mamiya would have helped. If a little bit of _I’ve got you_ , would have made him hurt even a little less. Anytime you touch someone by choice, that’s an exchange. An acceptance or a denial of everything they are. Each time he touches Mamoru he’s affirming that this is a person he cares for, who he wants near to him. When he’d shoved Mamiya that day with Kaidou-san he had wanted it to read distance, dislike, distrust. That’s a goal he regrets, but at time he’d achieved it. Touch is effective in that way. A message sent with your body has a certain directness to it.

“What did you do for the rest of the day?” Kaito places the last of their dishes away.

“I did laundry, finished up some computer work, resisted the urge to lock Kagami in the supply closet.”

Kaito snorts, sitting down on his bed, “I’m very proud of you.”

“You should be. It was hard.” Mamoru sits beside him, and the instinct to press in side to side hits them both simultaneously.

The contact reminds him exactly how tired he is, and slumping against Mamoru’s shoulder is a nice break from having to support himself. It’s easy to let his head rest against Mamoru’s shoulder. Easy to close his eyes for a minute and listen to his Messiah breath in and out. Each inhale and exhale brings him closer to relaxation. His muscles carefully unwinding until fears for Ariga, fears for them, various frustrations… They all slide back into their proper places where they don’t press so uncomfortably on his consciousness.

Instead he’s wrapped up in the way Mamoru’s arm slides around his waist and holds him. Holds him together, holds them together. There’s just as much of an exchange of their hours apart in this as there had been in earlier words. Their nerves hold conversations at every point of contact. Checking in with each other, updating, syncing their combined understanding of _us_. Any tension or oddity is noted and saved for reference. There’s always room for care.

Kaito takes Mamoru’s hand and hangs on to that too. Time apart is important. They can only spend so much time tied together before they need to breathe, but coming back together is always soothing. Ariga’s loss was not his own. He lost Mamiya on his own terms. But he has also watched every opportunity Ariga is denied with Mamiya gone, and Kagami unwilling to play the same game as the rest of them.

Ariga doesn’t have this. The ability to simply exist beside someone who makes him happy in any and all capacities. Maybe that’s why Kaito hasn't over thought what he and Mamoru did, because the physical act itself doesn’t matter so much. Everything had been tied up in what it shared, and what it expressed. The mark on his shoulder is still there, but the dulling purple is the shade of comfort before it’s the color of sex.

Not that it can’t be both. But one’s a vehicle for the other, not the final interpretation.

“Hey,” Mamoru tugs at his hand, until he looks up from the shoulder he’d been using as a pillow.

“Hmm?”

His not-quite-question isn’t answered by anything other than a nearly shy smile. The kind that should have told him what was coming, should have warned him about the hand sliding from his waist to the back of his neck. That definitely should have mentioned Mamoru’s breath on his lips and the gentle press that follows.

Mamoru is kissing him and he’s confused, but not complaining. It starts relatively quiet, but doesn’t stay that way. It builds until Mamoru follows the sound of a gasp back into his mouth. Kaito’s stomach curls around something that climbs into his chest. Something like feathers, brushing up against his insides until his lungs become so ticklish he can’t breathe. His fingers tighten around Mamoru’s, his free hand slides along the blanket beneath them until it finds Mamoru’s hip.

It ends soon after that, Mamoru looking pleased with him under the slight flush on his cheeks. Kaito’s ninety-nine percent positive he’s wearing a darker shade of red. His tongue is still caught on sensations seconds old. Words aren’t possible just yet.

“Goodnight Kaito.” It’s punctuated with Mamoru gently shoving him down onto the bedding.

He’d argue, ask Mamoru where that all came from. But he’s sleepy, and he can’t find the resistance required to do anything other than allow blankets to be pulled up over him. The light goes out moments after.

And then he waits.

Until a familiar weight slides in beside him.

“Goodnight Mamoru.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That took me forever, and I'm sorry about that. But this chapter is 9.5k, so hopefully that sort of makes up for my terrible slowness. 
> 
> Now we've got Ariga more involved, so yay! Building the group dynamic along with Mamoru and Yuuri's relationship is something I'm really enjoying, and looking forward to furthering. I'm also amused by exploring what Mamoru and Yuuri's early reactions (pre Shinku) to Itsuki must have been like.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is really proud of me for finishing this in a little over 2 weeks instead of a month, right? XD 
> 
> Mamoru's POV.

* * *

The desks back when he had been in school weren’t so different from the one he sits at now. Kaito sitting beside him is reminiscent of that time too. They’d been able to communicate with passed notes and their own secret language of tapping pen caps and shifting papers. All ways to keep tabs on each other without their teacher noticing. Today isn’t much different, except it is.

The desk, for one, is bigger, and it’s made for two. Pairs. They don’t learn about about science, or history, or math. Instead the overhead projector lights the wall up with video of various criminals from a ring that they’ve been investigating. It will be time to go in for the kill soon. That’s what they’re here for. To be lectured on the facts and details of the upcoming missions, and to get a brief preview of the files they’ll pick up later with their specific assignments.

This is a lesson he has passed the test on again and again. Bullets marking the right answers. The Church doesn’t give him a gold star, or anything of the like, but he and Kaito have a certain amount of recognition as one of their most effective pairs. It’s a cursed reward. One Mamoru is forced to hold in gratitude even as he can feel higher risk missions being tipped towards him and Kaito. _Congratulations on not dying. Here’s the next exam._ He can’t, and won’t hide their score from his Messiah. He feels it too, numbers have always been more his domain anyway.

Mamoru glances at Kaito whose attention is trained on Kamikita. He’s frowning half in concentration half in annoyance. It’s clear why.

Kamikita’s voice is broken up by the thumping of a foot against a desk leg in front of them.

Kagami can’t keep still, and the repetition of sound sits on Mamoru’s nerves. If he avoids grinding his teeth, it’s only so that he doesn’t distract Kaito further. Kaito always pays close attention during these briefings. It’s like the literature class they’d taken back in school. He isn’t as gifted in murder as Mamoru or Ariga, but he’s great at putting what he studies into application. The desk continues to rattle, it’s rude, and unnecessary, and-

Ariga grabs Kagami’s knee to stop the kicking. Mamoru is grateful.

Although the weight on his attention is removed, he still can’t lift himself into any sort of focus. It’s a sensory overload not entire made up of today. Yesterday is still draped on him, probably a few days, maybe a week, before then too. Everything piles up. Not the type of things he expulsed with Kaito’s help, but new developments yet to be sorted away. They’re not quite _new_ , in the sense that they’re completely original. But the transformative nature is just as curious.

His finger ends up following along scratches in the desk’s surface, following a set path so that his mind might get the same idea. Mamoru’s body takes up commands easier than his thoughts. Kaito notices the gesture and smiles. Mamoru likes to draw sometimes, and Kaito enjoys watching. This isn’t any sort of artistic expression, though. It’s trying to find his point B along paths of those prior. Gouges and nicks from previous cadets make it impossible to forget people he never knew sat here, lived here, probably died because of here. Although, they’re not all strangers. Maybe Kaidou-san and Mitsumi-san had sat in these chairs once.

But chairs are all they are, and there’s no warmth from anyone but himself. If it were bench seating he’d be able to borrow some of Kaito’s heat, but the Church is only interested in closeness until it’s not. There are many places designed for solitary time when partners are what they depend on to get work done.

The lines and dips in the wood that his nail catches on are tight lipped. Nothing to be found there. Mission details are pretty important, but he can’t follow those either. And that’s concerning, but not really. It’s not as though he won’t be able to catch up. Sakura will always have that information available. It’s a nonstop stream of calculated violence and overloaded information. It’s there even when it’s not. You can try to ignore it; but you sleep on, eat off of it, wash your hands with it. It doesn’t go away after you’ve step in once.

Dark thoughts are only dark in contrast to lighter ones. The only reason it’s all so noticeable in this moment is because he’s walking into the fuzzy brightness of things he doesn’t understand yet. But he wants to. He stops tracing lines, and reaches one of his hands under the desk. It takes 2.5 seconds for Kaito to notice and put his hand there too. They don’t always do this, but when they can get away with it it’s nice.

The pulse in Kaito’s wrist usually helps to clear his mind. Today it only helps to envelope him further in memories, predictions, and confused clarity. Kaito’s palm radiates body heat, it’s a small source, but it’s enough to bubble up what he’s just begun to unpack. Pleasant and pushing all at once. Mamoru thinks that’s one of the signs of a great partnership. Someone who’s safe and comforting and _home,_ but also someone who shoves at you to try harder, understand more, reach farther. Kaito’s not a mirror. He does not show Mamoru’s reflection, but rather where they’re going. Less like glass more like a map. But his skin is so much more than paper, and his body says things ink can’t articulate.

Things like last night. That goodnight kiss, entirely innocent in comparison to what Kaito had given him prior. To what he accepted. Though to say it was entirely innocent might be incorrect, because it was certainly an extension of thoughts and hopes left imbedded in his skin from that night. Mamoru stops again. Because implying something to be not innocent is somewhat indicative of a kind of guilt. And that’s wrong too. They’re not guilty. They’re them.

That’s enough, and Mamoru allows himself to pull up eleven hours ago.

He’d definitely caught Kaito off guard, but he’d been happy. Even the dimness of their bedside table lamp had been enough to catch the edges of a smile that pushed confusion out of the way. Ariga had needed Kaito, but Kaito had needed support afterwards. Mamoru is endlessly proud and impressed by what Kaito has been able to do. Still, he offers as much as he can give because Kaito deserves a safe place to come back to after being so brave.

The briefing cracks. Words fall into sounds. Sounds fall into hums. The walls stumble in and in until he’s only seeing his Messiah. It’s not claustrophobic though. This closeness doesn’t choke or smother. Kaito looks at him and nods slightly. When Mamoru spaces out Kaito always notices, but so long as it looks like a mostly peaceful trip he lets him go. Mamoru squeezes Kaito’s hand. His fingers are a little cold, and it’s tempting to cup Kaito’s hand and blow warmth onto it. That would be pushing it though. There’s only so much that will fit under the desk.

Recently, it’s been a little more difficult to package it all into a black leather box, stamped with Sakura’s seal of approval. While technically it’s all been in the realm of what’s allowed (the permissions afforded to Messiah are nice when they don’t tick like a bomb) he’s teetering on a distraction that would probably be frown upon. But damn them and their opinions, he would have kissed Kaito goodnight regardless. That desire is what’s got him mixed up. It’s stuck to his ribs, resting in his lips, comfortable in the bones of his fingers. It’s foreign, but intimately a part of him. Similarly to how Kaito is a separate person, but also so much of him. Maybe it makes more sense than his attempts at over analysis lend it.

Vaguely, he wishes he had a pen or something to fiddle with. Something to keep his free hand from curling around empty air.

Caring for Kaito is around two decades old now. That’s amazing in itself. Five-year old him had been so thrilled to make a new friend. So excited that the sort of shy boy actually talked to him. It felt nice to see him smile then. It still does now. But it also makes Mamoru think about things like wanting to kiss him again, on his lips, his forehead, anywhere really. The care hasn’t changed, the trust hasn’t changed. How he chooses to express that though… That’s in flux, and new can be scary. There’s no fear of Kaito, but there’s a concern that he’s building what they shared into something it wasn’t intended to be. That he’s tugging Kaito into a direction that wasn’t supposed to be the end destination.

Kaito had been happy, though. He’s sure of that.

He’d climbed into Kaito’s bed after because lately his bed has seemed to be too much of an empty space when he’s alone. His Messiah had been more than willing to spend the night cuddled up. Waking the next morning that way had been pleasant too. Kaito’s bed hair is adorable, clinging and fluffed up all at once. So maybe he still has some thinking to do, but there’s nothing in immediate danger. Except their lives, because of work. But their partnership, their friendship. That’s fine, it’s always going to-

“Mamoru,” Kaito pokes him in the shoulder, “We can go now.”

“Oh, ok.” It would be embarrassing if it were anyone else. Kaito’s voice is quiet, but the laughter is right underneath. That’s worth it.

The rush out the door after a briefing has always amused Mamoru. Not a single pair likes to linger in front of tomorrow’s struggle when there are other ways to spend today that lack the potential lethality. He can hear Ariga and Kagami exchanging some semi terse words. Well, more Ariga trying to be responsible and Kagami being his charming self. Kaito shakes his head when he catches Mamoru’s line of sight.

“You’ve got to finish up that program right?” The demands on Kaito’s specific skill set always increase during any sort of large-scale investigation.

Kaito nods, “Yeah, I only have a little left though. I’ll come find you when I’m finished.”

Mamoru would offer to go with him to the computer lab, but Kaito admittedly finishes faster alone and the dimness of the computer lab isn’t Mamoru’s favorite place. No windows is bad enough, and being on a lower level the air tastes stale and magnetized with anxiety and information. A bit of a headache he could do without. Kaito navigates it better than he could.

“Alright, see you soon.”

~~~

With Kaito busy for the next hour or so there’s not much to do except to grab the extra ammunition they’ll need for tomorrow. He can probably clean him and Kaito’s guns before Kaito finishes with his computer work. They have some knives he should probably check and pack too. Blades aren’t Kaito’s favorite weapon, it’s too personal to slice someone, Mamoru knows that. At the same time he’d rather Kaito be a little uncomfortable while stabbing someone than have him stuck with a jammed gun as his only means of defense.

Ammunition, find Kaito, pack for tomorrow. The mental list forms with each step down the hall. The list breaks off into multiple lists, all the steps needed to complete each task. Nothing is as simple as a single action, it’s small actions in quick or slow succession that make up each task he wants to accomplish. Sometimes Mamoru breaks down fighting that way too. Each centimeter of motion has a cause and a goal. If you can learn to follow those trends you can learn to predict the motions of opponents, and of yourself. He knows how quick he reacts to a hand striking, or to a gun being drawn. Empirical data given in intrinsic survival skills. Instinct and practicality. It’s a good combination.

Data also brings unwelcome surprises.

Mamoru remembers being told once that Sakura employs around a thousand people, another number that’s more symbolic than anything. He’ll never see all one thousand faces. The majority represents nothing but the restless atmosphere and shifting pulse of the Church. Parts of the whole body, but too small in his life to be noticed individually.

It’s his luck that Kagami would be the one in one thousand that he comes across at the weapons room. Few people knit his temper into tight stitches of frustration the way Kagami does. His skin is pulled so snugly around annoyance that deeper anger finds exits in tears caused by the strain. That anger is not owed by Kagami, rather he’s a trigger. Just a mechanism that ignites a string of past pain ground into gunpowder.

“Kagami.” He nods. If nothing else he can always claimed he tried respect first.

Candy clacks against teeth, “Shirasaki. Did you lose something?”

It’s not the worst joke he’s heard. But it bothers him. One of the reasons he finds Kagami so infuriating is because even dressed as humor there’s a distinct disregard for partnership, for teamwork, for understanding really. Maybe Kagami eats so much sugar to balance out a bitterness whose origin is unknown to Mamoru.

Or perhaps lollipops represent something nicer, kinder to him. That wouldn’t be unlike what Mamoru had picked up on about Mitsumi-san. But comparing the two of them stings because Mitsumi-san undoubtedly cares for Kaidou-san in ways in Kagami has not once tried to afford Ariga. Everyone has the flavors of their past and their present stuck in their throat, they come out in words and sounds. Mamoru doesn’t like the aftertaste of anything he’s heard Kagami say.

“No. I haven’t.” He places his fingertips on the scanner that allows him access to an allotted amount of ammunition. The quicker he can get out of here the better. The box fits inside one of his many pockets. So many bullets in such a small space. They don’t take up much space until they find a target.

Kagami is bored, or just in one of those moods. He smiles at Mamoru from around his lollipop. The stick wobbles from a laugh he hasn’t let free yet. Mamoru’s shoulders grab onto a guarded tension while Kagami couldn’t be more relaxed. “Ahh so do you use a tracking collar or something?”

“Kaito is none of your concern.” Putting things out in the open is one of Mamoru’s specialties. They’re _not_ going to dance around indirect jibes at Kaito, at being a team. Friendship in Mamoru’s book is in a completely different syntax from whatever Kagami is reading. Kagami might even be holding his own book upside down. Or maybe he makes origami out of the pages instead of reading. His unorthodox methods are seemingly boundless. A game of sorts.

Games are fun until they aren’t a game anymore, “Oh of course. Messiah aren’t a big deal anyway.”

“What do you mean?” He shouldn’t ask. Answers travel from fingertips up the lollipop stick and into Kagami’s mouth. Mamoru already doesn’t trust the shape.

He hates the way Kagami looks at him as though he’s about to spoil the end to a hyped up movie. The corners of his eyes crinkle when he laughs to himself, but the angels in each tiny line are too sharp. They don’t add up into humor, not really even close.

“Messiah don’t really matter. They’re replaceable.” Kagami shrugs, leaning into the believed truth of his words, “I’m replacing some Mamiya guy.”

There’s the reason the two of them have never gotten along, and that’s the fundamental difference in how they see those around them. Everyone is allowed their own views that others can choose to try to understand or not. When it comes to Kagami, Mamoru can’t possibly look through an opinion whose lens is so shattered that he’s sure he’d slice his eye. Maybe that’s why Kagami can’t see.

“People aren’t replaceable.” Mamoru half cringes. It sounds preachy, and too vague. It’s not enough to capture all of the things that make a life an individual incapable of being replicated. He’s had people die, has left people behind. People who he will never get back, and who took parts of him that he will never get back. Strangely enough those holes become comfort once you realize that no one else fills them in just right. The unique negative space is a mark of sorts, a signature on your insides that promises _they existed._

“Sure they are.” Kagami’s grin isn’t really malicious. It stretches around a joke he knows but Mamoru doesn’t. “If Ariga dies, I get a new Messiah and try again. Same goes for him if I die, although if that happens he might just have some really rotten luck.”

Mamoru steps forward and Kagami takes up half a fighting stance. His pupils dilate, grabbing light into anticipation. This is what he wants, for Mamoru to come at him. It’s cat and mouse, except less like a mouse and more like a weasel. Kagami looks for fights like they’re candied joy coated in exhilaration. Mamoru could be a source of adrenaline for him, he could swing and pop a drop of chaos into Kagami’s mouth. Feed that addiction.

But he won’t. As tempting as it is. Mamoru takes a deep breath, inhaling both Ariga’s will to get along with his new Messiah and the look on Kaito’s face every time he gets hurt. No, this isn’t worth a confrontation. Not right now. Something says he could pound Kagami’s lollipop through his teeth and it still wouldn’t pierce his logic.

He sighs,“You don’t get it.”

“What’s there to get?” Kagami’s temper sours a bit at being denied his fun, but he does step back. Jaw still tight, muscles still binding around the hope that Mamoru will change his mind. But he won’t start it, it’s responding to the initial threat that is most fun for him.

The psychology behind that would probably be interesting to analyze. But not interesting enough that Mamoru has any desire to stick around. The two of them don’t mix, they won’t mix until Kagami reaches something closer to a real relationship with Ariga.

As it stands, Mamoru won’t stand by and watch another train jump the tracks with Ariga trapped on it.

~~~

Kaito finds him in the training room, and the relief that his arrival brings Mamoru is enough to ice the mental bruises arguing with Kagami had given him. Just his presences reconfirms everything Mamoru knows to be true: they’re ok, they’re together, they matter to each other and that’s enough. Outside opinions don’t matter.

Kaito looks a bit tired, some of the shadows of the computer lab cling under his eyes. He speaks first anyway,“You look pissed.”

Mamoru shouldn’t be surprised, but Kaito’s lack of filter strikes at random. Not that he minds. It’s funny and the honesty is a nice change from the constant omission all around them.

“It’s nothing much. I had words with Kagami is all.” The details of the argument are on his tongue, salted and ready spill out one grain at a time. He keeps that grit behind his lips. Kaito doesn’t need one more reason to worry.

“Mamoru,” It’s not scolding. Kaito places a hand on his back and rubs, “Did you?”

“I didn’t hit him, no.” It’s not that Kaito has ever tried to hold him back from going at Kagami, but starting a fight would have consequences. What would the Church do to him? It would probably depend on how bad they hurt each other, and on what kind of an inconvenience they caused for the higher ups. There are rooms of the Church he’s never been in. He assumes they have a purpose. They probably aren’t a game room.

“Thank you.” Thanks isn’t quite what Mamoru thought Kaito would reach for, but it’s not a bad choice. Just a little curious.

“For what?”

“For Ariga. For not getting yourself hurt or in trouble.” The hand on Mamoru’s back grabs a fist full of his jacket, holding always holding. Kaito’s not scared, but there’s anxiety in his grip that bleeds through Mamoru’s clothes. There’s holding on and holding close and holding together. It’s all of those things.

“I won’t do anything stupid over him, I promise.” He can’t say he won’t scrap with him, or argue. But there are lines he will not cross. Because he can’t sacrifice everything he has now just for the chance to prove he was right by force. Staying with Kaito, supporting Ariga. That’s worth more. If he still had any connections to home his mom would probably say that’s a sign he’s really an adult now.

But he hasn’t been able to call himself any kind of kid in a while.

“Good.” Kaito’s throat catches, just a little bit, Mamoru decides to write that down for later.

“I wanted to practice shooting for a bit. If you’re up for it?” They could rest, or talk, or watch a movie on Kaito’s laptop, that would be fine too.

Still, Mamoru’s afraid of falling into something too easy, too normal, because affection and kindness tend to melt away the starkness of their reality. They have to stay sharp. Their weapons better used for protecting each other than Sakura. Their motives matters less to their officials than their results.

“Sure” Kaito’s tongue agrees quicker than his body.

His legs are a bit stiff when he moves to follow Mamoru to the shooting range. He had probably been crunched up in his chair. Mamoru has always been somewhat impressed by Kaito’s ability to fold himself into small spaces. The ways he sits in a chair are sometimes unusual, but each position serves to take the pressure off of sore spots.

The practice guns aren’t as familiar as his personal weapons. They’re colder, less welcoming. The pads of his fingers don’t find the usual spots where skin melts into steel, the weapon becoming an extension of his fingers. These guns don’t reach for any bond, they’ve been touched by too many hands, some hands that don’t hold anything anymore. Mamoru pushes thoughts like that down and away. Taking a clean shot requires emptiness. That’s a lesson he learned years ago. Any physical discomfort? Shove it away. Thoughts of tomorrow or yesterday? Dump them out. Fears and doubt? Shred them up. Voices and memories? Bury them.

The trigger isn’t stiff under his finger, it’s glad to have a job. The gunshot barely registers. It’s white noise by now.

His shot is as clear as he can make himself. Pretty damn precise.

Each shot after follows in a quick and accurate succession. Today’s frustration may be fueling him a bit, but that energy is refined into the pure sort that doesn’t influence his aim.

He’s not a sniper like Kaidou-san or Ariga, mid to close range is his strength. There is no lying in wait or hours alone, just pulling chaos and enemy fire into focused force. He’s shot people point blank, from yards away, from where they can see it coming, from behind. Endless angels and options are all intimately acquainted with the spots where life likes to concentrate itself.

Sometimes he panics when he looks over at Kaito and sees how independent he is from the gun. Sure, there’s some anxiety that Kaito isn’t as naturally adept as he could be with weapons (god has he made up for in sheer effort), but that’s not enough to confuse Mamoru’s breath as to which way is in and which out. The fear is that he wonders if there’s such a thing as _too_ good with a weapon. If he’s in danger of reaching the point where he _really_ becomes a weapon rather than that he uses one. Pleasing to Sakura but not to himself.

That fear never lasts long. For all he chose to give away to be here, there had been some degree agency in deciding. He had agreed to destroy his identity in records but not in blood. He still has a sense of self that can’t be bargained away so easily.

And every time he thinks he might be sliding toward directions he doesn’t want to go, Kaito looks at him just like he always has. He has this way of smiling with his eyes that leaps out to the most human parts of those he interacts with, and Mamoru has welcomed that embrace many many times.

Watching Kaito take his shot is a study in their differences. Kaito doesn’t hesitate, and his form is mostly correct. But he exists separately from the violence, directing it but not living in it. When he takes a breath to steady himself it doesn’t align with the breath the gun takes before firing.That separation breaks down communication a bit, and the shot hits about two centimeters too far to the left.

Kaito sticks his tongue out slightly, “I’m always off on my first shot.”

“Here,” Mamoru steps up behind him, adjusting his grip and stance. Kaito is experienced enough by now, highly trained in his own right. He doesn’t need this much guidance, but Mamoru wants closeness and Kaito indulges him. “Just, a little bit higher. There.”

Mamoru squeezes Kaito’s arm, and Kaito pulls the trigger. The kick from the gun jumps through Kaito’s back to Mamoru’s chest. This time the shot hits dead center.

“Better?” Kaito smiles over his shoulder, and Mamoru’s spine bounces a warmth down each vertebrae.

“Yeah. You’ve got it.” Stepping back is more work than stepping forward. Maybe his boots are full of lead. The kind of lead that is overly fond of his Messiah. Not that such a thing exists. But if anyone is sweet enough to charm fictional metal, it would be Kaito.

Each shot he takes earns a few critiques from Mamoru. He’s good, much better than he used to be. But Mamoru wants him to be as prepared as possible. It had been hard to watch Kaito kill his first man. The second wasn’t much easier. The third still difficult. He’s reached the point by now that the death of a stranger doesn’t scare him. It won’t take Kaito. But a misstep out in the field could. So they practice. Everything from the forms Kaidou-san and Mistumi-san taught them up through techniques of their own design.

When his gloves smell like gunpowder they’re done.

The automated door lock clicks behind them on the way out.

Mamoru remembers the first time he had tried to find their room after leaving the training hall. It had been _hard._ All the bedroom doors look the same, and the bends and turns in the halls have no defining features significant enough to serve as any easy means of identification. Individuality isn’t the Church’s thing. Small numerals by each door are the only hints, counting along with the prescribed numbering had been the only way to find their way back.

It’s easier now. There are small signs that tell them how close they are. The right wing is chillier than the rest, there’s a bulb at their first turn that flickers, and the last hallway before theirs is always a bit tense. Once they trudge through there, it’s a straight shot to their door. Identical to any other door, but Mamoru’s fingers unlock it and Kaito turns the knob that rattles just a little. Small things scratch through uniform black. A ring of white where they left a glass on their table, a smudged fingerprint on the bathroom mirror, the sheets with blue stars Mamoru bought hidden under a gray comforter, the gold inlay on the spine of a book left out on the desk. All signs of life and _welcome home._

“Your guns are in the second drawer, right?” He’s almost certain, but Kaito rearranges his things every once in awhile.

“Yeah, they should be.” Kaito has already deposited his gloves and stripped off his jacket.

He snatches Mamoru’s jacket too, while it’s still on. Fingers massage Mamoru’s shoulders while he unzips and shrugs it off. Kaito drapes both their jackets over the back of their chair.

The leather folding, the one drawer clicking shut and another opening, Kaito’s foot falls, their lamp buzzing to life. Mamoru has tried to assign these sounds colors too, something to help capture the domestic peace they draw. It makes nice cover art for the blacks and grays they live. When this is laid over that, the dark makes shadow and lines defining but not trapping the bright.

“I’ve got the guns if you’ve got the medical stuff.” Dividing tasks works well enough. And Mamoru can’t sleep soundly until he’s handled Kaito’s weapons himself before a mission. For safety. To tell those hunks of steel what they need to do, how important their job is.

Kaito grabs their first aid kit from under his bed. “Sure. I think I restocked this after we bandaged you up last.”

His injuries aren’t perfect yet. Certain muscles still chew him out when he asks too much of them, and his burn scar still hasn’t quite forgotten the heat that made it. But it’s healing. It doesn’t take a role and a half of bandage anymore. “You’re always on top of that kind of thing.”

_Always_ might be a bit too inclusive. It discounts the time when Kaito could barely function, but even in that isolation he’d cared. Cared so much that his intentions make up for what he couldn’t do. Kaito took care of Haruto for so long after he was already dead, he’d try to look after Mamoru too even when he could barely remember which way to the fridge and how many hours of a sleep a human requires to survive. Imagined bandages count in Mamoru’s opinion though, and it’s his opinion that matters because he’d been the one only surviving person to know what they were spun with.

Kaito rustles through their first aid kit. It’s small enough to tuck into their jackets but it has the basics. Needles and thread, bandages, antiseptic, pain medication, tweezers, an elastic tie, gauze, tape, gloves, wipes. Enough to buy time. Medical attention isn’t easy to come by in the middle of a mission. Sakura will send medics but only after there is no danger of compromising the rest of the mission. If you die before then, too bad, you’re worth less than success. Your Messiah can try to save you and no one else.

So Mamoru always tries to kill the other guy first. When it comes to probability the shorter the lives of their enemies the longer theirs should be.

Their guns are clean, every mechanism moves exactly when it should. He has checked, three times on his own, five on Kaito’s. One of Kaito’s guns has a sizable scratch on the barrel where he’d used it to deflect a knife. The integrity of the weapon isn’t damaged, but Mamoru cringes every time he sees it. Too close for comfort. The barrel of the gun isn’t far from Kaito’s skin, from his wrist, from his pulse. Shutting the guns away until morning is half a relief.

A mug taps on the table beside him, “Here.”

It’s tea, warm and waiting just the way he likes it. He hadn’t even notice Kaito grab mugs or water. Kaito’s so apart of here, of them, that his motions are interesting. Sometimes they draw Mamoru’s attention to the most minute shift, and other times they feel like they’re his own involuntary actions. So much so that they barely break his consciousness.

“Thanks,” He likes his plain, with just a small bit of honey with the air as brisk as it has been. Kaito prefers a bit a sugar, or sometimes he’ll try out flavors like raspberry, or melon. Mamoru doesn’t mind those. As long as Kaito likes them, he’ll drink them.

There’s silence that’s stiff and awkward, the kind where nobody knows how much room words will take up or if movement will translate itself upside and backwards from intentions. Mamoru has always hated that feeling of being trapped in company. That doesn’t happen with Kaito. When they’re like this, sitting in comfortable quiet, it’s all rest and ease. It could be minutes or hours before either of them feels the urge to speak or move.

Sometimes silence is short.

“Hey Mamoru.” Kaito puts his mug down, pulling his legs towards his chest.

“Hmm?” He swallows the last the of tea in a gulp and a hum.

“Why did you kiss me last night?” His chin rests on top of his knee. The question is void of anger or offense. The tone is instead lifted by interest, following along the pace Kaito matches to curiosity.

Mamoru sputters anyway. It’s hard to keep from coughing his drink back up while words try to go out and in and maybe between his teeth or under his tongue. Anywhere they can find a space they go. “I um… I well-”

Is Kaito laughing? Yes, quietly but his shoulders are shaking undeniably. Mamoru’s face must be making all sorts of expressions that Kaito can string into a comedy. It’s a bit distracting when Kaito bites his lip to stop the laughter. Teeth and skin aren’t exactly where his focus should be to explain this. Because it hasn’t been anything his flesh wants so much as what his skin has tied touch to. Tethering each sensation to points within his being. Each tug afterwards plays on strings and sensitivity that jingle out something new from something old. Like adding another layer to a favorite song, it’s deeper richer, and he wants Kaito to hear it too.

“I guess I, ughh” Mamoru groans. His tongue isn’t cooperating with his thoughts. Nerves twist it a bit. Kaito asks without malice, but that he brings it up makes Mamoru wonder again if he’d missteped, misread, “You’d had a hard day, and I was really proud of you. But I also wanted you know how important you are to me, in every sense and I’m sorry if that made you unc-”

“Shh. I didn’t mind it.” Whispers have never been quiet when they’re Kaito’s. The smile is as much in sound as it is in sight, “I really liked it actually.”

“You.. Oh.” He must be smiling now too. Relief is the first thing to make it’s way from his lips to the rest of him. Or maybe it starts in his fingertips, possibly the back of his neck, or his stomach.

He owes Kaito a better explanation than the one he just spilled out. Mamoru has given this some thought. Answers aren’t really where he can grab them for easily, but he has ideas and feelings. Enough that Kaito might be able to put it all together. Sequences and sentiments braid around and around until they make a guide rope of what Mamoru is trying to say. It’s still difficult to hold onto.

There’s sensitivity, but Kaito could reach into any part of him and he’s confident it wouldn’t hurt. And even if it did it would be fine. Kaito knows him and his body and his emotions better than anyone. A little pain has never been anything in comparison to what always comes after. For every time they’ve hurt each (and they have, because they’re human) they have built each other bandages and support from their desire to be a kindness, to be everything they can be to each other. And after trading so many pieces of themselves there’s nothing he has that Kaito doesn’t know how to care for and vise versa.

He should say that. He doesn’t say that. “Would you let me do it again?”

There are so many things wrong with asking that now, instead of forcing himself to grapple with words. But he wasn’t going to win that fight today, not quite yet. So maybe this is the next best thing he can say. A question instead of an answer hands Kaito control. Yes or no, or something in between. Mamoru is asking Kaito to take agency because there is something about Kaito that can get lost over and over but alway finds the right direction again. For Mamoru directions aren’t so clear cut. It’s more circles, everything leading back around to the same pillars. Or almost the same, lately they’re a little different after each lap.

“Yes.” Kaito pats the bed beside him. “Yes, you definitely can.”

Getting off of his bed and over to Kaito’s shouldn’t be hard. It’s never been hard, but it’s difficult to find his footing when it slides around with each step. His chest is excited, his heart and lungs are definitely playing some sort of celebration of relief and thanks against his ribs. But his legs aren’t sure what kind of bridge has covered up the floor. It’s one he wants to, needs to cross, but it has no name, no clear destination on the other side save for Kaito. Kaito is a great destination, though. One of his favorites. The kind he can return to day or night in any season, and find new and beautiful things, scary things, wonderful things. His hands make an anchor from Kaito’s shoulders when sits next to him.

It’s not nervousness that brushes its fingers against the insides of his stomach so much as it’s anticipation. This is allowed by Sakura, but it is performed in lines and songs written by them. What they can create doesn’t need a sanction from any power that can’t create anything outside of what it can manipulate others into doing. It’s not a rebellious thought, not really. It’s a question of loyalty, surface versus bone deep. Probably even deeper than bone, down into every microscopic stitch of blood, and tendons, and marrow.

He has permission from Kaito, but he doesn’t know exactly where to start. Anywhere would be good. But choosing isn’t easy. So he hugs Kaito, pulling him in closer and closer. His ribs want to lock with Kaito’s, but clothes and skin are in the way. Telling each other how to breathe to the same rhythm is close enough. Kaito smiles into the side of Mamoru’s neck, his hands run everywhere and nowhere along his back.

They aren’t rushing. Nobody’s in pain. It’s different. There’s nothing compelling them but each other. Not death, not time, not fear of loss. Those things are there, aren’t they always? But they’re more like wisps and vague lines. Memories that will fill in randomly, but for now they’re empty and weak.

A kiss is what he asked for. He doesn’t take it quite yet. There are distractions all around. Mamoru’s fingers find the jut of Kaito’s hips, the planes of of his stomach under his shirt. It might tickle, Kaito laughs. More air and vibration than anything. Or it might not be humor. Rather it could be that kind of joy that resembles drunkenness in some ways but not in others. For as much blurring and blending as there is, certain things have never been in sharper detail.

Like how much he enjoys Kaito’s hands running up and down his sides, reaching around to his back to pull him nearer. The callousness are something Kaito never had as a child. But they protect Kaito’s hands from the hot and sharp things he has to handle now, so Mamoru is grateful.

“Anytime now.” Smugness isn’t the usual from Kaito, but he wears confidence with a kind a brilliance that squeezes Mamoru’s throat. It looks so much better on him than grief riddled constructions of insanity or the hypothermic blue of holographs.

When he finally kisses Kaito it’s slow, but only in pace not ground covered. He’s swallowing breath, only to hand it back with his tongue. Grazing teeth against lips. Not enough to bleed or bruise, but enough that Kaito’s throat forgets which direction belongs to sound and which is paired with oxygen. It doesn’t matter. The slightly strangled gasp is in a language they both understand. The one whose structure is so easily written in exhales and gasps. In pressing forward and forward until it might hurt.

But it doesn’t hurt.

Rather it’s so thorough that Mamoru’s not sure whether the ribs under his fingers are his own or Kaito’s. It’s not a vital detail, but it’s one that goes nicely with everything the nails nipping at his shoulder blades have to say. Kaito sighs against his lips. Air doesn’t taste like much, except there’s definitely wisps of every little thing it has brought with it from Kaito’s lungs and throat. Mamoru curls his fingers around Kaito’s waist. If he leaves bruises it doesn’t matter. Nobody will read them except for the two of them.

He can trace so much of their history on Kaito’s skin. If he digs in deep enough he can still find children and story books. They’re borrowing those books now. Taking what kids knew to be a whole story and adding chapter after chapter. They’re still who they were, but not. The body replaces all of its cells at some point, life wants to continue, but pieces of it have to die for that continued renewal. It’s not so different on a larger scale. The person he pins to the bed, he is Kaito, he has always been Kaito. But Mamoru also knows there’s more of Kaito than what he can hold against blankets. Places and pages of history that can fold themselves into the same bones that will hold a future. It’s the the same for him. That’s progress.

Leaning down and over Kaito is farther than he intended on going, but why not? Why stop when they’re determined to use each other as lattice work to climb and grow? His own ascent isn’t nearly as important as the structure he helps provide for Kaito’s. Still he’s rewarded more than generously. Kait’s legs tangle around his, and the lost balance drops him onto Kaito’s chest. The gasp filling lungs makes a nice pillow.

“Hi,” Kaito runs his fingers through Mamoru’s hair.

“Hey.” The urge to add about ten different compliments after the greeting sits on his tongue, but his ears say they all sound silly. Kaito can taste them anyway. Kisses are good for that.

Kissing Kaito’s neck is something he’s grown especially fond of. His lips and tongue get to find all of the sounds Kaito tries to keep to himself. More than that he can taste life, and it’s bright. It finds its way from Kaito’s skin into his eyes, mediated by his lips. So bright that it almost stings, but not as much as it soothes.

If they didn’t have rooms next door to worry about he’d insist Kaito not hang onto to everything he can feel the sound of. But this isn’t something to be shared with their neighbors, and Kaito will take good care of everything they both keep inside of him and inside of Mamoru.

They’re going somewhere and nowhere at all. Here is everything.

His lungs stash the fluttering feeling that tickles out a moan while Kaito kisses his jaw. He’s so gentle that they’re barely kisses, and more a constellation of contact. Each point helping them to orient around each other. It’s his fingers who locate east somewhere around Kaito’s left hip, and west around his right thigh. He lacks the accuracy of a compass, but the patterns and circles he draws bring Kaito closer to him. Kaito’s back arches north while Mamoru presses his lower body south. It’s one hell of an alignment. Pretty damn perfect if the shaking sounds that slip away from their kisses are telling the truth.

They’ve always been truthful.

It wouldn’t be a far trip to go where Kaito had taken them, to go beyond that even. That kind of journey involves unpacking rather than packing. Clothes, space, separation. All dropped off in favor of _together_. They could go. Mamoru knows they could. Kaito’s body tells his that it would be fine, _here and there and here,_ it would be better than fine. He’s sure it would be. But he asked Kaito for a kiss and he’s received more than that. That’s alright. They don’t have a rule saying they can’t give more. Still, he needs Kaito more Kaito’s body. Sex is great, really it is. If they, if he… Yeah, he thinks they’ll go back there. Soon, but not tonight.

Tonight he just wants to hold Kaito, badly. To let his heart record everything that that presence means to him so that he can replay it in the future. Carefully, he slows down their kisses from consuming to completing. Mamoru rolls so that they are side by side, but he pulls Kaito in immediately. Who’s the blanket and who’s the pillow matters less than how quickly their fingers find each other. There are strange and sweet and frankly terrifying things in his head. His Messiah is the root and the solution.

“Mamoru?” Kaito would let him go further, but won’t ask for it. They don’t need to. Not for the purposes of today.

“Just stay here, ok.” He can’t scold his voice for the raspiness. It definitely earned every bit of gasp and grit.

Kaito kisses his forehead, “Of course.”

They’ll work tomorrow, they’ll survive in pieces and wholes. Missions are always uncomfortable in their familiarity and unknowns. There’s watching Ariga, watching Kaito, watching his target and his own back. So many moving parts that require care, others needing force. The complexities of three dimensional puzzles are awful at the scale they’re dealing with. Too small to see the entirety of the structure they lift into place piece by piece. It’s impossible to to manage it all.

Instead, he puts his energy into making sure Kaito is always intact. So long as Kaito is ok, is going to be ok, then nothing will fall off its axis. There will always be a point to build and rebuild around.

They hold and don’t let go. Their stability isn’t broken by space, but he’s glad to have Kaito so close night after night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahhh, that was fun and tough to write. Tough in that it tugged me around a bit emotionally. Damn these kouhai and their complex feelings doing things to my feelings.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woowww. I am so sorry this took so long. It was just delay after delay after delay.
> 
> Anyway, we're back to Yuuri's POV now.

* * *

 

In the chaos of a confrontation it sometimes feels like he might be drowning. Everything is distorted by the flow of motion and sound. One shot ripples until it sets off several more. Trying to focus on their points of origin is nearly impossible with the way they come from every direction. But only some are aimed _at_ him, several shots are actually intended for those targeting him. Targeting all four of them. It’s half threats, and half protection. Tracking motion is a little easier than chasing sounds, or it would be, if he only had to watch one person at a time. Combat involves picking out the most vital threads of action and waiting for a tug on that line, the warnings are sometimes so quick there isn’t time to think, just act.

His arm remembers the shots Mamoru practiced with him yesterday. Gunpowder and adrenaline meet in his veins, and the shot is off before he can count his own breath. His target’s motion stops, then starts again with a newly downward trend. The fall after death seems wrapped in a different kind of time that bundles up the end. Facedown and dead. A person now just a body. There’s probably blood, but Kaito doesn’t stop to look for stains. There’s no time. Not enough seconds for all of the people crammed into this office building, so it’s Kaito’s intention to make sure that they win those minutes away from their enemies.

_Enemies_ is funny to him still. It used to make him a bit sick every time he killed someone. The twist of their grimace would wrench into his gut, and he’d go cold then too hot. That sensation is gone, for the most part. Protect his Messiah, protect the others, finish the mission. That order is all that matters. It’s the only equation he can count on to produce the results they need. Mamoru has to come home with him, Ariga too. Sakura picks their enemies, but Kaito’s only personal grudge against them is the wild variables they pose to his sequence of goals. So they’re Sakura’s enemies first, supposedly Japan’s by extension, and somewhere in the gap that makes them his too.

Mamiya still won’t add into enemy, but the string of data Kaito has on him doesn’t fit into any individual folder. Every number he picks up unravels into feelings and memories, and those seem to shift shapes with every angle he views them from. Infinity in a finite life. A system error of sorts. Maybe that’s way Mamiya could not survive. Kaito would like to look into it further.

But he can’t look now.

Mamoru’s gun goes off once, twice, three, then four times.

One body falls behind Kaito, another drops off to the left of Ariga. The sound isn’t sickening the way it used to be. It’s not much more jarring than when he dropped a book this morning. There’s something concerning about that. For everything that he’s still sensitive to, this slides away. Raising his gun places shadows rather than people on the floor. It might be another coping mechanism. The kind that he knows terrifies Mamoru, but they all have them. There’s no way not to. Not if you want to survive, and Kaito wants to live.

All of their weapons, with the exception of one of Ariga’s guns, are standard issue from Sakura and yet Kaito has learned the sound of his Messiah’s. He has learned how may seconds between shots are normal, how many are _trouble._

The clash of desk flipping onto the foot of one of their opponents is Kagami’s doing. The drawers fall out and papers dump onto the floor. Ariga shoots the guy through the back before he can recover from Kagami’s furniture based assault. Mamoru’s exasperation paints itself in Kaito’s mind’s eye. It worked, though, so he won’t complain. Several years worth of economic data dumps out to catch the body and some of the blood on the floor. It might make an interesting ink blot test, probably the kind Sakura would implement. One looks something like a cat, and for the first time today Kaito’s stomach starts to flip.

That’s ok. His stomach can do what it wants, his hands don’t need any advice.

He’s still shooting. Here, there, moving, turning, ducking. Even replacing the magazine of his gun doesn’t require a break in concentration. Kaidou-san would be proud. Glancing over at Mamoru is the one instant he can’t stop his focus from shifting. They keep an eye on each other as much as they can, they don’t say much to each other, it would be too difficult to hear anyway. But they know.

He can read data sets, but even after all this time they don’t make as much sense as Mamoru. Making sense isn’t quite the feeling though. Not really. That assigns a sense of lukewarm logic to something almost entirely instinctual. When Mamoru’s left shoulder drops, Kaito takes half a step the same way. When Kaito takes aim, Mamoru raises his gun to provide cover. It’s almost a collective understanding of their environment. They pull wisps of sensation out of the air between each other and spin it in connective threads. If Mamoru is stiff turning to the right, Kaito moves to that guard that side. If eyes glance towards an odd shadow, he’s already firing. It works both ways. Every motion he makes moves Mamoru too. Reading body language is a vital skill, but reading intention, reading intuition that isn’t your own, is harder.

They do it. And they end up back to back. It’s their preferred method of fighting. Mamoru’s shoulder blade nudging his spine unwinds the dizziness that tends to slip in in the midst of a battle. He has come a long way, but the temptation of a quiet room and the peace to hear himself think sneaks up on him. Mamoru reminds him that those thoughts were liars, that Kaito let them lie to him because he had been tired enough to hand them control. Distraught enough to sign away sanity. Not now. He has control.

“How are you holding up?” Mamoru manages to convince a whisper that it’s strong enough to overpower gunshots.

“I’m fine.” Fine is a relative term. His upper arm is bleeding where coat is sliced. Other injuries remind him just how human he is, but nothing life threatening. “What about you?”

“I’m not hurt.” It’s good news. Speaking, breathing, confirming.

They need to wrap things up.

Kaito hears exhaustion creeping up on Mamoru, Ariga looks like he’s favoring his left side. It’s a small blessing that the terrorists they’re taking care of tonight look worse. This type of mission is simple. No survivors. Sakura knows what it needs to know, so these lives have no purpose to the them, they send in their cadets who will also run out of usefulness someday. Life isn’t a renewable resource. Not an individual’s life anyway.

The fighting shifts when Ariga latches onto a guy, grabbing shoulders, and hooking his leg. He tries to kick as he falls, it doesn’t matter. Ariga doesn’t flinch when the boot connects with his thigh, his shot is an effective silence all the same.

Mamoru takes up Ariga’s lead, and goes after one of the few remaining enemies. It’s then that Kaito notices that the men are trying to _escape_ rather than come after them. It’s not a frontal assault Mamoru launches, rather he tackles the guy to the ground, all tangled limbs and awful angles. There’s always that one moment of stiffness that Kaito catches. The instant when life slams up against death and motion is pinned between the two for an instant. He doesn’t think that moment will ever not be jarring. Years bleeding out of a life that you can’t shove back in. Once they’re gone they’re gone. Permanence is a concept he has fought and lost to. Continues to lose to in a way.

The mantra _it’s ok as long as it’s not one of our own_ helps.

He counts to four over and over again. So long as he keeps hitting that number it will be ok. Keep shooting, keep fighting.

Hand to hand is a different beast from the calculations of bullets and trajectories. Personally not Kaito’s favorite. Of course you’re responsible when you shoot someone, but to physically attack them, skin to skin it’s different. It’s strange to feel bones snap or muscles compress. Making someone bleed by hand is odd too. Science says all human blood is around the same temperature. It always seems to be scalding or icy when it’s not your own. He doesn’t like it. Actually putting his hands on someone and wrestling the life out of them requires a level of violent intimacy he’d just assume not share.

But he will, and he does.

Kaito catches an arm that swung at him. The fist does hit his side, the rib there is unhappy with him, but he manages to stop any further motion. The next attack is slower, more off balance. Ragged breathing drops blotches of pain on his conscience, each patch spreads until he has a clear image of how best to take down this person, this human, this life he has no name to give. The injured left leg is easy to kick out, the shin bone might bruise his foot through his boot. Small price to pay. Gravity says to go down with the falling opponent. He never lets go of the arm he caught, rather he pins it to the ground, and kneels on thighs, free hand bringing his gun into position.

The fatal shot goes off before he pulls the trigger.

He’s looking at a dead man.

He didn’t kill him.

But he knows who did before he even looks up.

For as much progress as they’ve made with Kaito convincing Mamoru he doesn’t have to guard him all the time, he still does things like this. Steps in at vital moments to shield Kaito from the ugliest parts of their job. Kaito wishes he wouldn’t. The motives behind the gesture are everything he loves about Mamoru; the action itself stings. There are words balled up in the back of his throat, he wants to ask Mamoru _why_ , even though he knows why. He wants to tell him he’s worth protecting too, and that he needs to stop forgetting that. Kaito doesn’t say anything of it. That lump of syllables is too volatile, and he can’t trust it.

He takes the hand he’s offered instead.

“That was the last one.” Mamoru tugs him up. His legs don’t quite recognize the ground after being folded on a person, but they figure it out after a single staggering step.

“Good.” They can leave, they all… “Ariga and Kagami-”

“They’re alright.” He can hear Mamoru swallow between words, “Everyone’s ok.”

His lungs remember their job.

Four came in, four make it out.

Those are numbers he likes.

~~~~

Standing at the desk of the hotel Sakura sent them to is somewhat disquieting. It’s not the lobby, or the oversized desk, or even the questionable taste in art that’s hung not quite straight on the walls. It’s more the bloody clothes and leather coats in the bags they carry. It’s how Ariga checks them in without letting his voice hint that they’re here for anything over than a business trip, giving fake names and information. Their identities have been melted down to a fluid state. Part of Kaito is surprised that the receptionist doesn’t notice that Kagami’s fingers must still smell like gunpowder when he fishes around in the candy bowl on the desk.

It’s hard to think back to when he might not have noticed anything strange about the group of them either. Now it’s all over him. Fingerprints of Sakura’s, of Mamiya’s, of Ariga’s, and of course Mamoru’s. Each has left a unique stamp that spells words and signs into his nerves.

When Ariga’s fingers curl around their room keys the jingle is impossibly loud. Mamoru half cringes beside him. They’re all still on edge, adrenaline hangs around until it’s sure it’s not needed. The first sign that it’s starting to fade is the aches and pain that sink their teeth into skin and muscle. Wounds slowly beginning to show off their severity.

Their room is at the end of the hallway, Sakura probably prefered it that way. Only a neighboring room to one side instead of two. The room itself isn’t terrible when Ariga shoves open the door.

Mamoru takes one look at the window and smiles, Kaito’s chest gets a bit tight. It’s light in here, between the sunset caught in the glass of the window and the white walls. Ariga tosses his bag down on one of the two double beds. It creaks, but Kaito doesn’t exactly mind. The room has a bit of life to it, it’s worked for who knows how many people. He can appreciate just trying to do your job. Although, maybe sympathizing with tired mattress springs has more to do with the exhaustion pooling around every bruise and scrape until his entire body is sluggish.

“How badly is everyone injured?” Kaito yanks the first aid kits out of his bag, handing one off to Ariga who offers a quiet _thank you._

“I’ve got nothing bad.” Kagami sits on the bed beside Ariga. Purple is starting to ink the outline of a fist over his jawbone, but he’s still talking. Haruto swallowed too much water to speak ever again, Mamiya had a bullet tear through his voice. Kagami’s pitch is slightly abrasive, but alive sounds so nice after everything.

Ariga prodes at the mark on his Messiah, and Kagami makes a face between a wince and annoyance.

“Why would you touch it?” Kagami jerks back with an indignant yelp that makes Mamoru laugh to himself. Kaito’s proud he doesn’t comment on the slight whining edge to it.

“I am making sure your jaw isn’t fractured.” Ariga’s thumb presses the mark again, his other hand curling into Kagami’s shoulder. He’s holding too tightly, Kaito can see the fabric of Kagami’s shirt bunch up under Ariga’s fingers. For all Kagami’s faults he doesn’t comment on the desperation in the grasp either. Kaito would like to think he must notice it, but chooses not to say anything rather than he can’t feel any of what Ariga holds him with.

“It’s fine!” Kagami bats Ariga’s hand away from his face, snatching one of the packet of pain pills.

The whole exchange is strangely touching in a way. Ariga’s a much better caregiver than any first impressions would suggest. Mamoru mutters something about Kagami acting like a pissy cat at the vet’s office, and Kaito does laugh. He thinks back to the unruly cat Mamoru had when they were kids and laughs a little more. Just a little though. While cats are amusing enough, injuries aren’t funny. They mark a slide somewhere along the rope between life and death.

“Sit down, Kaito.” Mamoru’s hand rests against his lower back, rubbing small circles. The feeling of fingertips pressing into the aching muscles there is nice. Sitting on the bed is nice too. It’s softer than the ones back at the Church.

“My upper left arm got cut a bit,” He helps Mamoru push his sleeve up, “Otherwise, I’m ok. Just sore.”

“Alright,” Mamoru’s distracted. He doesn’t look right at Kaito, rather he rummages around in the first aid kit grabbing more supplies than are needed for Kaito’s wounds.

It’s hard to ignore the way his hand curls around on Kaito’s upper arm. His hand is steady but the grip, that says everything. It’s not particularly harsh, Mamoru is always so careful. Instead he cups his hand over the wound like even the lamp light might slip in and sting Kaito. Give him some sort of infection that Mamoru doesn’t have any pills to fix. But no, the light feels nice, so does the warmth of Mamoru’s palm.

The peroxide he sweeps over the cut doesn’t feel as nice. Mamoru anticipates the slight jerk Kaito’s arm insists on and holds him in place. The concern shading in lines of frustration on Mamoru’s face scribble their way onto Kaito too. They borrow each other’s emotions so easily, though they’re not really borrowed so much as shared. He's genuinely happy when Mamoru’s happy, and when they do argue he feels more rotten about Mamoru’s pain sinking in his gut than he does his own. It’s a sensation Kaito has adored and hated throughout his life. Mamoru’s one of the few people who never seem to use connection as manipulation. Just so purely honest in what he what he offers as _friend._

Mamoru has this habit of smacking his hand on the freshly applied bandage, and Kaito winces without fail. His Messiah is slightly sadistic maybe.

“Are you sure that’s it?” Hands trail down his sides ready to lift his shirt in search of more injuries. It would be preferable if Mamoru would just keep his hands there, trace Kaito’s ribs with his thumbs until the last bits of suffocating mission shards extract themselves from his lungs.

“Yeah, I got punched a few times. But bruises heal.” If he tells Mamoru the bruises are there, then Mamoru will find some comfort in knowledge. There are wounds, but not serious ones. _Nobody’s dying_. How many times will repeat that in his head until he really believes it? “What about you?”

“I’m not bad. Don’t worry.” Mamoru’s hand rests on top of Kaito’s giving it a squeeze.

He wants to be convinced but it’s difficult. Some seconds still talk about lies and images he had made for himself. He has taken apart that clock many times now. Has held each gear and cog in his hands to understand that his mind doesn’t have the power to change reality. If Mamoru is ok, it’s because he’s really ok, not because Kaito can construct that out of thin air.

Mamoru is ok. Not quite as ok as Kaito wishes. His breathing isn’t exactly what it normally is. It’s shallower, hesitant to jostle his poor ribs. That damn explosion follows them around. The worst of it is gone. Bruises aren’t so outwardly apparent, the burns are pretty much closed up. Scars form, but there’s still some tenderness in the tissues that Mamoru must have irritated today. It would be easy to step back into personal failures. Hindsight teases him with at least twelve different ways he could have helped Mamoru avoid those injuries. It also baits him with today. If Mamoru hadn’t had to work so hard, maybe he wouldn’t have strained himself?

No. It’s not his fault, it’s not Mamoru’s either.

This is a lesson he reteaches himself over and over. It requires less convincing than it once did, but he still takes a moment. Running his palms over Mamoru’s ribs to check for injuries serves the dual purpose of assuring him that it’s alright. He can be worried about Mamoru, he can allow himself to indulge in every breath and the warmth that holds his fingers through fabric. There is nothing insane, nothing unstable about concern. It’s not in control, not rewriting his memories or freezing his actions.

“You seem ok. A bath would help.” Pulling his hands away is difficult. The drawbacks of a shared room run spider cracks of annoyance up his back.

“I told you.” There’s no real annoyance, more soft reassurance than anything. Mamoru enjoys teasing him, but they don’t joke about this.

Mamoru bumps their shoulders together, one hand giving Kaito’s knee a squeeze. The descent from action into at least a surface level of relaxation provides some kindness to their bodies. It would be nice to fall back onto the mattress and tug Mamoru with him. If he has one complaint, it’s that the windows are drafty. Suppressing a shiver would be easier if he was still wearing his Sakura coat.

Although, the cold breeze has it’s benefits. He watches Mamoru’s drink it to put out the burning in his lungs. It also helps untie the knots he doesn’t remember his stomach tying itself it. A stray memory of Mamoru’s mom opening the car windows when they would get nauseous on road trips stumbles into the present. It’s when he’s not looking for them that quiet slivers of his life dig into his fingertips. Leaning up against Mamoru helps with the chill and the tiredness. If he closed his eyes he’d probably fall asleep in minutes. Mamoru’s that good of a pillow, until he moves.

Not a big movement, just a gentle nudge to Kaito’s hip. _Let me up for a second._

“Ariga,” Mamoru grabs the first aid kit off their bed, “you’re not looking so good.”

That snaps Kaito’s attention up. Ariga’s ok, isn’t he? They would have noticed sooner if he wasn’t. But that’s not always the case. Especially not when someone is as skilled as Ariga at talking pain down. At telling it to stay in the corner and wait until it’s convenient. It’s almost never convenient in their work, and injuries get annoyed at being ignored. Mamoru’s right. Ariga’s pale, and Kaito dreads the way his shirt is clinging awkwardly to his side.

“I just need a new bandage, Mamoru.” Ariga peels his shirt and a makeshift bandage away from his skin. His fingers pick up red from the black fabric. Blood. Why is it always blood?

Mamoru startles, then smiles at the use of his given name. Kaito’s lips try to lift into a smile. Ariga had taken at least some of their previous conversation to heart. They’re here for him. Far distances are a sniper’s comfort, but Kaito had seen Kaidou-san after days of waiting. There’s something missing, something suppressed. Anything not required for basic survival pushed away. It always came back to their sempai quick enough, especially with Mitsumi-san’s help. Ariga still seems to struggle with depriving himself of feeling in exchange for function. But this is progress.

Kagami crawls on the bed until he can peer around Ariga’s side, and under Mamoru’s arm at the injury. It’s not quite the reaction Kaito would want, but his eyes do widen for a quarter second. He does pull more supplies from the second kit. He does help grab the shirt when Ariga tugs it off. Kaito could be angry that Kagami didn’t check his Messiah sooner, but he reacted. He isn’t as indifferent as he’d like to be.

“You need a little more than a bandage.” Mamoru presses around the wound checking for heat and pain, “Kaito, come here and help me.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. The wound is fairly deep, definitely a knife, and not as clean as would be ideal. The first half is a fairly clean slice, but it tapers off into something more jagged, “Why didn’t you tell us you got hurt?”

Handing Mamoru the gauze pads and antiseptic wipes gives his hands something to do other than grab Ariga and hold tighter and tighter until he can feel how much he’s worth to Kaito, to them. They’re only given so much, and Ariga is indispensable. They all made mistakes that cost understanding, that shut doors that might have lead to somewhere safer. But in that terrible cost, Kaito would like to think they managed to gain an even stronger sense of together. The three of them being shown what together looks from the way Mamiya’s bones fell apart.

“I wanted to be sure we had enough supplies for more serious injuries first.” Ariga places his hands on the bed, bracing behind himself. The tension in the muscles of his arms doesn’t look kind, but everyone has their own way of working through discomfort.

“I think you’ve got it the worst this time.” Kaito presses gauze against the wound, the bleeding isn’t slowing quite as easily as he’d like. It’s rare for Ariga to receive the worst injury. Nobody is entirely safe. Kagami passes him a new bundle of gauze when the current one becomes saturated.

Ariga doesn’t make a sound, and Kaito almost wishes he would. Silence is nerve wracking. He can’t help but remember waiting, waiting, waiting, to hear something and hearing nothing. Mamoru hearing nothing. They knew when they didn’t want to know. Ariga is alive, he’s breathing. The bed creaks when he almost shifts away from the pressure Kaito applies.

“How do you feel about stitches?” Mamoru holds up a needle and topical anesthetic. None of them are nurses or doctors, but Sakura has provided knowledge of vital medical skills. Like how to keep your comrades from bleeding all over everything. The ointment looks too unsuspecting to make stitching skin painless.

Ariga nods anyway, there’s not really much of a choice, “Sure.”

As far as Kaito can remember Mamoru has never actually stitched someone, he’s been stitched, but actually performing it is a bit different. Admittedly, Mamoru’s probably the best choice out of the three of them for such a task. Kaito doesn’t trust his hand not to shake, and very little about Kagami says precision.

“Try not to screw up,” Kagami’s filter is working marvelously, as per usual. If he sees an opportunity to bait Mamoru he takes it.

Mamoru doesn’t miss a chance to hit back, “I could always practice on you first if you’re concerned.”

“Guys please,” If they were anywhere else he’d let Mamoru do whatever he needs to do to deal with Kagami’s attitude. But not right now, not when Ariga’s blood is starting to to drip from the gauze down the backs of Kaito’s hands. It’s not blood itself that bothers him, they’ve all been hurt. They’re human. Ariga’s blood is almost the same temperature as his skin, it burns away.

“Sorry.” Mamoru tugs Kaito’s hands away from Ariga’s side to make room for the anesthetic ointment. He pats Ariga’s back,, “This needs to sit for a few minutes before you’re numb enough.”

“That’s fine.” It’s impressive, the way Ariga fights down any obvious reaction to the pain he must be in. He adjusts himself on the bed so that he’s lying with the wounded side up, and his arm reached over his head, and out of the way.

Kaito reaches up to grab his hand, “You’re going to want something to hold onto.”   
Or maybe Ariga would rather not have Kaito holding onto him, but he doesn’t try to pull away. Mamoru takes notices and smiles. This is something Kaito has done for him too. Sat there and held him while he underwent any sort of painful medical procedure. For all Mamoru’s original insistence that he didn’t need Kaito to come watch him get stitched or treated, he made excellent use of Kaito’s hands. His knuckles had been sore for an hour, Mamoru’s got a strong grip. The soreness was welcome though, just like it will be welcome from Ariga. Strength in the grip of fingers and Ariga’s pulse tapping on his wrist quiets his mind from going to treacherous places.

It’s nice to be helpful. It’s nicer still to found grounding in comforting someone else.

“That stuff has got to have set in,” Kagami pokes Ariga’s side, “Are you numb yet?”

“Yes.” It’s difficult to read whether Ariga’s just tired, or if the grayness in his voice a response to Kagami’s use of enough colors to give anyone a headache.

Mamoru draws a steadying breath, and Kaito uses his free hand to loop behind Mamoru’s back for support. Maybe he just wants to be attached to both of them, to both ends of the process that will help keep them all together. No more walking around with eyes shut until someone bleeds out. They’re going to stop Ariga from bleeding. They can fix it this time, not entirely, but there’s a level of trust and control Kaito wishes they had sooner. It’s foolish to wish like that though, it just splits again and again into hours, minutes, and seconds he could have chose differently.

Maybe those choices would have helped. But where he is now, isn’t anything he would complain about. You can always lose more. He’s grateful for Ariga’s steady breath, Mamoru’s warmth against his arm… Even Kagami clicking candy against the back of his teeth isn’t unwelcome.

“I’m going to get started, the quicker the better.” Mamoru’s hand does not shake.

Kaito knew it wouldn’t.

His Messiah’s face does take up paths of concentration and shadows of worry. Skin is strange to watch being stitched, seeing it tugged closed by a black thread. Black is woven into so much of what they wear, Kaito’s half surprised the thread doesn’t blend right into Ariga’s skin. Mamoru moves pretty quick, as fast as accuracy allows. For someone’s who’s not a doctor, the stitches are neat and straight. It’s not the first time Kaito’s been so proud of Mamoru for how quickly he adapts. When they first arrived at the Church, Mamoru had to be so flexible that Kaito’s still not entirely convinced his bones don’t have lasting fissures in them.

He’d been Kaito’s friend and caregiver, Ariga’s Messiah, a new cadet, a student of sorts. All at once, right from the get go. And he managed. The balancing act wasn’t perfect, but it held everything Mamoru had needed it too. Making it work is a tremendous skill to have.

Ariga’s fingers tighten around his when Mamoru hits the more jagged edge of the wound. This is fine, this is what he intended to be here like this for. To give Ariga a safe place to put all the pain that the ointment couldn’t stop. Kaito knows how to hold pain. He’s been burned and gagged by it enough times he’s picked a few techniques for handling it. Some are less expensive than others. The one he offers to Ariga won’t cost him anymore than sore fingers. Wounds can’t damage any deeper than the body, there’s a finite amount of a pain nerves can receive. And while that amount is certainly enough to do damage, Kaito has always found some sort of comfort in the limit of it.

The scarier form of pain is the one in your mind and chest. It always seems to know how to create new paths, dig a little deeper, infinite places for it to hide and wait. Places for it to sit, where you _know_ it’s there but good luck trying to find it’s exact location to pull it out. Kaito knows he’s still not completely free from that.

And Ariga definitely isn’t. They don’t even know the half of it yet. Secrets haven’t been kind to them, but only Ariga can know if and when he’s ready to share. It would be nice if he shared freely in words rather than in a burst of actions shoved down for too long. Everything has a boiling point. Every element of everything. Ariga’s must be high. He’s resilient. It makes him useful.

It also makes him dangerous.

The more the pressure builds, the bigger the explosion.

Kaito’s not afraid of him. He’s afraid for him. He squeezes Ariga’s hand when Mamoru ties a surgical knot and Kagami cuts the excess thread away.

One bleed is stopped. The bandage Mamoru places over the row of stitches encourages them to forget, but Ariga’s body will remember in scar tissue.

“Thank you.” It’s as much of an exhale as it is words.

“No problem.” Mamoru flexes his fingers, color returns to his knuckles. Kaito can see the indent of the needle between his fingers just starting to fade. He’s never stitched anyone, he can’t be quite certain if Mamoru held the needle so tightly out of nerves or necessity.

Medical supplies clatter to the floor from where Kagami knees the first aid kit off the bed, “We need room to sleep.”

“Kagami,” Ariga doesn’t tack a _please_ on, but it’s there. “Pick a side.”

It’s easier for Ariga to let Kagami climb under the blankets on the side of the bed closest to the floor where’s made a mess. Ariga hasn’t moved yet, and the way Kagami bends his legs to make room for Ariga is strangely thoughtful.

Unlike the extra work he made for them. It’s only the prints of tiredness he can see under Mamoru’s eyes that keep his Messiah from snapping at Kagami.

Nobody has enough energy left to bend down to the floor to pick up the kit. Besides that, Kagami looks strangely pleased at the different bottles and bandages put into a state of chaos. His eyes slip closed with a smirk still half on his lips. Maybe he finds comfort in the move away from order? Disturbing organization and intention to replace it with unpredictability. Kaito wouldn’t mind asking Kagami about it if he thought his question would be taken seriously. But it wouldn’t be, and he has doesn’t have enough space left for words that serve no purpose other than to misdirect and fill space.

Really they should pick it all up and put it in their bags so they can be ready for whatever ride Sakura is sending over tomorrow morning to take them home. Kaito starts to force himself bend down and stuff things back in their proper place. Mamoru’s arm wraps around his waist and stops him.

He shakes his head, “We’ll get it tomorrow.” _Go rest._

His lip gets stuck between his teeth and words he traps. There’s no point in disagreeing with Mamoru over something so small. A night’s rest in a room with a softer mattress and a view of the stars hung in the curtains is a rare opportunity. They would waste it trying to clean up after Kagami. Sliding into the bed and under the covers draws his bones right into the mattress. Exhaustion takes over what adrenaline had controlled just hours ago. The body is amazing at managing its own needs.

“Mamoru, you too.” Lately,he can’t relax fully until Mamoru is lying beside him. And every moment Mamoru spends lingering by the window while Ariga climbs into bed next to Kagami is a minute less he’s getting to rest. But Kaito knows. Mamoru wants to be the last to lie down, just to be sure everyone else is safely settled down.

“I’m coming.” He slides in next to Kaito, the mattress springs only complain a little. This bed is wider than the beds back home, but they take up no more space than they normally do. If anything they press even closer together than they do back at the Church. Unfamiliar surroundings that looked so normal in daylight still pose threats.

Sakura taught them this. Who knows how many layers of white paint are on the walls. How many millimeters of space this room has lost every time something needs to be covered. They have no clue the kind of people who have stayed here. If Sakura frequently uses this place to put up cadets, or whose to say other organizations don’t use it as well. Darkness gives these thoughts room to grow without the movement of day to catch his attention away from them.

It’s not that he’s afraid of night, or the dark.

No, he had kept a near nocturnal existence for some time. The stillness had been what he was craving where his mind could stop competing with the rest of the world for reality. It had been easier, so much easier to let himself slip into his own world. A trap. But being stuck had felt like being safe. The confusion had blurred the two to the point Kaito hadn’t wanted out, until he needed out.

If he hadn’t gotten out...

If he had stayed…

If he had never reached for the door-

“Kaito.” Mamoru’s whisper catches him. His Messiah keeps his eyes closed but he doesn’t need to see Kaito to understand, “Relax. You’re fine.”

“I’m ok.” Was it his pulse starting to take off that told Mamoru? Maybe. The thumb circling over his wrist suggests yes.

“Yeah, you are.” The sleepy smile Mamoru offers is one that Kaito traces into his memories. He’s seen variations of it before but it makes a better blanket every time he sees it.

Sleep is easier to find once he moves in a little closer to Mamoru. He’s a little taller than his Messiah but maneuvering his ear close to Mamoru’s chest isn’t difficult. Kaito counts along to that heartbeat. Each number hands him a pleasant memory to rest to. It’s a wonder how positive associations are formed. How he can combine Mamoru and counting into something that quiets him into sleep.

~~~~

Sakura sends them a taxi the next morning.

The driver is one of their own. Kaito knows it before he says he’s their ride. The way he watches the people on the street gave it away. Careful, but not actively careful like someone looking specifically for something. It’s difficult to explain. He has seen Mamoru do it, he knows he does it. It’s just an all around alertness, as if their involvement in a secret organization has pulled back a veil and they can see writing on walls they never knew existed. The structure of their world has shifted, and how they interact with it has changed accordingly.

But not everything changes.

Mamoru still hates the smell of cigarette smoke, which the taxi reeks of. The smokey smell does a good job of masking other scents, the burn holes in the upholstery are a nice touch too. It’s so ordinary it almost tries too hard to be. There is nothing and everything normal about the four of them piling in. Car rides used to be fun. All those games kids like to play to pass the time. Kagami leaps into the front next to the driver, which leaves Ariga, Kaito, and Mamoru crammed into the back. Ariga should have the front to give his injury more room, the least they can do is give him a window seat. Kaito doesn’t mind the middle. It’s not a long ride back, the ungodly hour of morning means less traffic.

“How’s your side?” Kaito nudges Ariga’s knee.

“It’s fine. The stitches stayed in.” Ariga nods at Mamoru who Kaito can feel relax beside him.

“I’m glad,” Smiling for Ariga doesn’t require the force it used to. It’s still gets stuck in his throat sometimes, the regret of not learning how to be happy _here_ sooner. To have smiled so little for Mamiya because he couldn’t imagine how to make happiness work with an intruder around. It could have worked, it might have helped. They can’t know.

“While I’m relieved my surgical knots stayed in, you’ll probably want a nurse to check it out,” Always the protective one. Mamoru might have made a good nurse in another life.

But he’s not a nurse now, the opposite really, they all are. But they can understand injury regardless. Wounds are particular in their own way. The things they ask the body for, the various volumes they feel the need to protest at. Understanding limits and time and healing takes practice. “Didn’t think your knots would hold, Shirasaki?” Kagami twists around in his seat. The seat belt can’t feel good digging into the back of his neck like that.

“I was prepared for the worst,” Kaito counts to five but Mamoru’s bite never comes, “My next plan was the stapler in the desk.”

Ariga snorts, maybe at Mamoru’s joke, maybe at the way it catches Kagami off guard. This is that adaptability that Kaito admires. How to not fight with Kagami at 5am? Beat him him to the jokes.

For what it’s worth Kagami just snickers to himself turning back around. Neither of them seem to be up for a fight yet this morning.

The rest of the ride provides an opportunity to doze off, until Mamoru shakes him awake, “We’re back.”

“Already?” Didn’t he just close his eyes? Time plays odd games when you aren’t watching it. That’s how you lose months so easily, or spend years in one second. Kaito’s been at both ends of the spectrum. Today isn’t so bad. Only thirty minutes or so gone to a nap.

“Yeah, come on.” Mamoru offers him a hand getting out of the taxi. He took his gloves off at some point and Kaito wishes he had done the same. Leather against skin leaves room for improvement. Mamoru tugs him gently forward.

It’s not that the ground is uneven or the car is particularly high off the ground. It’s that walking back into the Church through back alleys requires a certain amount of discipline.

Narrow paths wind off in different directions every dozen yards or so. Any one of them could be a way out, they never take them. Going back is hard, getting lost is harder. It’s enough to follow to walk beside Mamoru, and behind Ariga. Kagami walks in a zigzag pattern, threatening to take a wrong turn, but he never does.

There’s the dripping pipe, and the sign with one character that just won’t light up. Every marker telling them where the back door is. Familiar is nice. They’ve constructed and reconstructed their identities around the skeletal pile of bricks they live in. Internalizing is dangerous, Sakura is dangerous. But allowing it to become part of their bodies allows for a certain level of control. Bones don’t bend, but they are moved.

Once they make it through the door there is some relief. For all the things they have signed over to be here, at least the risk of being shot or attack here is minimal. Kaito has thought about asking if the Church has ever been attacked directly, if there’s protocol for that. There probably is. The dusty ineffective kind that preserves missions and security above lives. Save the institution sacrifice the blood, there’s always enough tragedy to get a transfusion. New recruits come in everyday, and Kaito can only guess that someday soon him and Mamoru will have to train some. They’re been here long enough, but he doesn’t know exactly how long. Certain numbers don’t interest him. Mamoru would know.

“Hey,” The hallway splits here, “You’re going to get your wound checked, right?”

It’s more a suggestion than a question. _Please take care of yourself._

“Yeah,” Ariga almost smiles, and that’s enough for him. Ariga wouldn’t lie, if he wasn’t going he would say so. Seeing him be kinder to himself squeezes something in Kaito’s throat. It shouldn’t be a surprise, it still is every time.

“We’ll be working on our mission report if you want to join us later,” Mamoru doesn’t offer out of politeness. The hours after a mission are always devoted to rest and recovering each other. He wouldn’t offer an invitation lightly. Kaito knows Ariga has been welcome for a while, but putting words to that kind of sharing is not so easy.

Not much is easy.

They sometimes struggle to sleep after they return home. New memories enjoy jarring their bodies to check response time. How long does it takes for a heart rate to return to normal, or how quick do lungs forget how to breathe instead of gasp, how many muscles tie up from one trigger? Unkind questions that their minds insist on asking their bodies. They’re filled with this kind of information, but there’s only so much room, and sometimes things get so tangled that it’s tempting to throw it _all_ out. The building of that kind of strain requires a specific type of handling to defuse.

Mamoru is offering that to Ariga, from the both of them.

Ariga nods, “Thank you.”

Accepting still asks for more than the base structures of trust. Whether Ariga turns up at their room later or not is entirely up to him. It’s for him to decide what he needs to take, and what he can’t allow himself to have yet. Kaito knows the value and the risks of time alone. Knows how easy it is for danger to appear as beneficial. So many nights he had refused to be in contact with anyone but his own mind, and that had seemed like it was for the best. For everyone. He never saw how dark the circles under Mamoru’s eyes were, or the way he seemed to have to force words through some sort of barrier whenever Kaito _talked_ to him and Haruto. And when Kaito did finally see, he didn’t know how to apologize. He’d thought he’d taken all that time he had cost himself from Mamoru too. But Mamoru gave it freely.

It’s not the same for Ariga. Whatever keeps at him isn’t something anyone here was witness to. None of them can remind him of where he came from, or how far he’s come from whatever clears his eyes for killing but leaves him blindfolded when someone wants to reach out. Or maybe he’d been tricked. It happens. You’re offered help only as an attempt to build dependence and then to be shown why you should never have trusted. They don’t know. Ariga knows. But even Ariga himself probably can’t answer his own questions. Kaito has still thought, _why did I do that?_ Over and over. There are reasons, but no solutions.

It’s because he understands that absence that Kaito is so proud of Ariga every time he joins in discussions, or makes a quiet joke. Every time he just allows himself to enjoy being around others without looking as though he’s struggling to reteach himself human emotion. He has so much he hasn’t forgotten. That whoever or whatever hasn’t taken. Kaito wishes quietly to see more of that. He thinks they will. Eventually.

Mamoru gives Ariga a quick pat on the shoulder, along with that smile Kaito has sewn into his own chest. The one that promises _I’m here when you’re ready_. It’s enough to make Kaito smile because Ariga doesn’t shrug away or flinch, he accepts the touch and the words Mamoru presses into his shoulder. That comfort turns into a gentle shove towards the medical bay.

“Hey Kagami, take him to get that those stitches checked.” It’s not a question, not really a command either. If Kaito knows Mamoru, it’s a challenge.

Kagami doesn’t play in terms written by anyone else. He smears ink and syllables until they’re nothing. He smiles around words but the implied joke is a little rotten. None of the suggested sweetness, “I’m not sure I remember where the medical bay is. I never go.”

It makes Kaito wonder, but not enough. Not enough to pull Mamoru away before one last barb.

“Well good. Ariga can show you where to find it, and you can do your job.” Messiah isn’t really a job, not to the two of them. It had been to Ariga once, Kaito thinks. It’s not now. But this kind of phrasing is Mamoru’s attempt to make it clear to Kagami, that he didn’t pick Ariga and Ariga didn’t pick him but they’re bound by an arbitrary set of five rules that calls for at least some semblance of concern.

If Kagami wanted to say more Ariga doesn’t let him. He grabs Kagami’s jacket and tugs him down the hall. Strangely, Kagami lets himself be pulled along. He dips and yanks away from Ariga, but he never pulls hard enough to break the grip. No, he hits the end of an imagined string again and again but he allows Ariga to hold the other end.

It’s a start. Maybe.

The halls leading back to their room hasn’t changed in the few days they’ve been away. Their bedroom hasn’t either. It has remained in a state of waiting. Waiting for them, or someone else. Cadets change quick enough. Dead or graduated. Different versions of gone that both leave an empty room. But for now this is theirs. Mamoru turns the desk lamp on. It’s not bright, but it’s good enough. They could turn on every light in the Church and it still wouldn’t be bright enough.

“Here,” Mamoru reaches for Kaito’s bag, “I’ll fix your coat.”

“My coat?” He hands his bag over anyway.

“Your arm got cut, so the coat’s got to be ripped too.” Oh. That’s right. Mamoru smiles at his recognition. Memories are still difficult sometimes, even the new ones. They play out of order. Not where he expects to find them. It’s ok.

“Thank you,” It’s funny watching Mamoru thread a needle he dug out of their bedside drawer. The leather of Kaito’s coat doesn’t move the way Ariga’s skin had, but Mamoru is no less careful.

“Of course.” He doesn’t look up. Small details and concentration wrap their fingers around his attention, but Kaito doesn’t mind.

He lays on the bed beside Mamoru, rolling onto his stomach so he can rest his chin on the backs of his folded hands. It’s a comforting view. The repetition of the motion of Mamoru’s hands, the rip getting smaller and smaller, the way the corners of Mamoru’s eyes crease just a touch when he squints at the stitches. They have to be straight, evenly spaced. Perfectionism is a habit of his Messiah. And Mamoru is pretty perfect himself. Not in the sense of being without flaws, but in the way he fits into Kaito’s life. He has never given much thought to books on soulmates, or anything of the like. They always seemed to assign elements of fantasy to something he lives every day, in flesh and blood, in the words and gestures they share. It’s all real.

Still, there might be stock in the idea that two people can fit so seamlessly together. It’s just that Kaito thinks it’s as much a choice as a random meeting.

“What are you looking at?” Mamoru does look at him now, smiling while laughter wraps each word.

“You.” There’s no shame in that.

“Oh yeah?” The amusement goes hand in hand with the vague shaking in Mamoru’s shoulders. He reaches down to pat Kaito’s head. It’s different though. Nice different. His hand lingers in Kaito’s hair, brushing through it with his fingers.

“Yeah, I like watching you.” He says it fully expecting the swat Mamoru gives his shoulder. Fingers don’t leave there quickly either. They curl into the muscle, holding. That’s what the two of them do.

“Well maybe I like watching you too.” The sly smile slips down Kaito’s back. Of course Mamoru watches him, they watch out for each other. But that’s not precisely what either of them are implying.

There’s a difference between observation for the sake of more effective protection, and being caught up in watching someone with the intent of trying to make sense of how they have become so impossibility important. Then there’s the feeling warm and dizziness every time you can’t find an answer. Any explanation is beyond the realm of logic. It’s not magic, it’s not threads of fate, but it’s something. Something that’s so intensely human, but not within the grasp of human rationalization.

Maybe the best part is that he can’t remember how exactly they got here because they keep arriving, and each time is a little sweeter than the last.

We made it. We’re making it. We’re going to make.

It’s all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these guys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever, and I'm really sorry about that... But it's almost 11k so yay for that!

* * *

 

Waiting for Kaito to come back from whatever Kamikita needed him for is slightly nerve wracking. It can’t be disciplinary, Kaito hasn’t done anything wrong. Unless they’re suddenly deciding to crack down on the bullshit “no friends expect your Messiah” rule, in which case Kaito’s friendship with Ariga could be the issue. But that friendship is one Mamoru shares, and if Kaito’s going to punished for that then so he should he. There are other cadets too… Groups that seem closer to each than the rest. A few Messiah pairs who have decided that beyond working together, living together helps. Loneliness runs rampant around here. Rumors too.

Ariga gets avoided a lot. Everyone knows, but they don’t really know. Mamiya’s death got played down, of course it did, lies help recruits sleep a little sounder rather than knowing Sakura made such a grave mistake. The cause of death may be concealed, but the fact that Ariga lost a Messiah isn’t. The ones who lose a partner are always treated with a level of wariness, like it was some failure of theirs that caused them to lose their Messiah, either negligence or just plain bad luck. It must have been even worse for Mitsumi-san, but it’s hard to watch it happen to Ariga. Some of that uneasiness is extended to Kaito and Mamoru too. For being so close to the center of Mamiya’s last moments. They’re implicated in that misfortune that no one wants to catch.

If they knew even the half of it… It doesn’t matter.

Putting laundry away helps to distract him. He always takes this job when splitting chores with Kaito, and Kaito lets him have it in favor of cleaning the bathroom. Something about how Mamoru can’t be trusted to take care of the toothpaste properly.

Most of their clothes are black via Sakura’s uniform requirements, but there are other pieces for days off and sleeping. There’s Kaito’s bright blue shirt, and Mamoru’s patterned sweater, fluffy checkered pajama pants, and a burgundy scarf with frayed edges. He sorts their things into their respective drawers. There are some shirts and a couple pairs of socks that he can’t remember whose they are. They end up sharing those among other things. A pair of gloves that he puts in the top drawer were a birthday gift from Ariga.

Of course Ariga would know the perfect texture glove for maximizing both warmth and grip. They’ve been here long enough for birthdays to pass, it’s a reminder that time still exists here. And that they’ve had lives since and before here. He’s still a ways a way from reaching the point where he’s celebrated more years with Sakura than without.

When the drawers are shut his hands itch to keep moving. Stillness reminds him he’s waiting, and while he’d wait for Kaito anytime it hasn’t been exactly tied to the most pleasant experiences in the past. Waiting at the hospital, waiting for Kaito to come out of his room, waiting for an answer on the other line of the phone. The relief after the wait is over reminds him how to breathe. Mamoru picks up Kaito’s mug from this morning and works on rinsing the coffee out of it. The dried ring on the bottom takes some scrubbing to get clean. He keeps up the washing motion after the mug is already spotless, it keeps him busy and the warm water feels nice on his hands.

Kaito would definitely flick the bubbles from the sudsy water at him. Instead there’s nothing but the sound of Mamoru turning the the tap off. Silence is only disappointing because it’s pale and brittle in the face of all the things Kaito could do in these seconds to make them feel like home. They’ve developed such a routine, and only in instances like this one does Mamoru realize how much his internal clock is set around Kaito. There’s stability in that shared chronology, and he can see through cracks in the floor when his Messiah isn’t around. It worries him sometimes.

Sakura encourages a level of dependence like nowhere else Mamoru’s ever been. The lives they're given, the ways they’re coerced into joining, and constant threat to their well being. It’s a lot. It would be plenty on it’s own, but then they give you a _Messiah._ Someone who’s supposed to make it all ok. Someone you’re allowed to have when everything else is off limits. These pairings are supposed to be literally and figurative lifelines. What happens when you get bound to someone like Mamiya? A promise who is so broken that he’s bound to break again and again until there’s nothing left. Ariga was lied to, and it wasn’t Mamiya who spoke the first or even the second falsity. It was the Church. His fingers tighten against the cup until he can hear his nails tap the porcelain. Too tight. It’s not fair.

He got Kaito. He’s lucky.

Part of Mamoru still wonders if they ended up together because the higher ups didn’t trust Kaito’s mental stability. Or maybe it was just a favor to pacify them. Cadets that actually have _something_ to try to live for are less likely to expire before their usefulness runs out. He’d consider it a favor, but favors aren’t free and Mamoru’s still waiting for the conditions. Maybe one condition is the withdrawals from separation or the threat of. _Would those withdrawals kill him if the worse happened, and if Kaito died how quick would he know it?_ That thought gets crumpled up. Mamoru has always imagined scribbling over negative images in black, a tip from his mom for bad dreams. His mental pen is gray now. It doesn’t cover completely, but he wouldn’t want to reach for black even if he had the choice.

Mamoru sits down on Kaito’s bed. There’s a bend in the metal framing of the headboard that’s been there since before they were assigned this room. Maybe it was from a disagreement between Messiah, or something else. Holding too tight, or refusing to be dragged away. This isn’t the first time he’s tried to find others in their furniture, but really everything is just his and Kaito’s by now. The bedspread is dried with two dryer sheets because Kaito hates static cling, and Mamoru has insisted on placing pictures and small trinkets around.

He grabs his book off the nightstand to try to start reading. It’s taken him longer than normal to get through this one. More of his free time has been bound up in loose thoughts that grab at his focus. The first few words slide through his fingers when his eyes drop them in favor the clock.

Taking a deep breath helps a little. His lungs use the extra air to to quiet his blood before his heart can get going too quickly.

The ticking, and the lack of a second heartbeat doesn’t mean he’s lost anything. He’s gotten more comfortable with that with everyday he has watched Kaito really live. Every time Kaito’s been the one to support him, to bear that weight. It’s all proof that they’re resilient. They’re choosing, they’re living, they give so much to each other but only because they want to. There is no force in what they share. They could survive independently, but they don’t have to. Because of a choice. That choice, that awareness is what is so vital. They’re not mind numbed addicts seeking comfort by Sakura’s prescription. They’ve learned to be strong apart, and strong together. And for that Mamoru is grateful to the intermission they spent surviving as the Messiahs of Mamiya and Ariga instead of each other.

It’s too easy to collapse the concept of Messiah into a drug to soothe loneliness and relax the grips of the past and of the future. There are pairs who become cripplingly dependent on each other because they’re the only thing they have that actually registers anymore. It’s sad in that those pairs stop seeing each other as people, and start seeing a outlet where a partner should be. That’s entirely Sakura’s fault, the system plays right into it. The harder you resist the harder it bites you in the ass it seems. Maybe that’s why he and Kaito have made it this far; they’ve never tried to be avoid Sakura or _Messiah._ You have to walk straight into something to learn how to harness it, and in that confrontation they’ve gained the resistance to its toxicity.

There’s still always the risk.

They saw Mistumi-san and Kaidou-san nearly break down during their graduation mission, and those two have a deep type of love Mamoru won’t try to label because it’s not his, but nothing is impenetrable. He’s still grateful those two made it out with more than their lives intact. Who’s to say their graduation mission won’t go awry. So many do, and others go south after the actual mission is completed.

Mamoru would ask Kaito to look up the statistics for deaths after graduation, but he thinks he would then be able to connect the cadets around him to the numbers Kaito would find. He doesn’t want to make those connections. You can’t undraw a line made in ink. Any attempts at erasing it end in a smudge still clouding around point A and point B.

The only lines he wants to draw are the ones that follow Kaito’s growth.

Kaito has done so beautifully while branching out. Mamoru adores the moments he can sit back and watch Kaito thrive. Every blossom that comes from a long conversation with Ariga, or helping a new cadet learn about computer software. He’s something amazing, and Mamoru is still stunned every time he reaches higher and he gets to be a witness to that. Those lines have started to form shapes that Mamoru knows can support all sorts of things. It’s terrifying and wonderful to be so attached to someone that their general existence forms an axis for everything else. As long as they exist, near or far, it will be ok. That’s why Mamoru doesn’t mind letting Kaito go and open himself to _new_ , because the fuller his existence is the better for everyone. Not just the two of them. Kaito’s that kind of person. He’s seen it in Ariga. He thought he saw the beginnings of it Mamiya…

He puts the book back down. Focus isn’t going to stick tonight. Their room could use some strands of lights, or sick on stars maybe. It’s childish, but the lack of a window still makes Mamoru miss the stars. He used to show Kaito the constellations, and Kaito would be able to memorize them so quickly he could point them all out to Mamoru the next clear night. That shade of light looks especially good on his Messiah too. Warmer than the blue base of the computer lights that had made all of Kaito’s skin look sick with the shades of bruises formed in the mind and bled into the body.

The doorknob rattles. That same stupid doorknob that takes a half turn left before it will rotate far enough right to unlock. They’ve had to teach Ariga how to get it to work. No, it’s not actually locked, yes they’ve asked about having it fixed. It’s finicky, but it’s theirs and only one other person is so accustomed to its quirks. It’s in these seconds that the whole Messiah seems to permeate threads with a dye uniquely their own. That feeling of waiting for your partner to step through the door is special in all the expectations of what that person brings _to_ home. Kaito doesn’t disappoint, he’s back, he’s- Mamoru’s halfway to reaching for Kaito’s shoulder when he notices the folder in his hands.

“We have another mission?” They just got back from one. Normally they’re allowed at least a day or two to rest. Coffee and tea can’t provide enough caffeine to push exhausted bodies through high risk combat. Even Sakura has to acknowledge sleep’s necessity.

“I do. Tomorrow actually.” Kaito’s smile is lopsided. The kind where half his face is cringing while the other is trying to be reassuring. He rushes out the last bit, “It’s not combat related.”

“Wait, what?” A solo mission doesn’t make sense. They’re not graduated yet. They’re supposed to have more time. Mamoru reaches for the folder, and gets Kaito’s fingers instead. That’s better. He can find his thoughts in Kaito’s fingertips, “What do they want you to do?”

“I’m going to one of Sakura’s alternative data labs to work on cracking some files they’ve been storing there.” He tightens his fingers around Mamoru’s, tugging him away from their door.

“Can I see?” Ink on paper might help it sink in. Whatever the hell Kamikita’s pulling sending Kaito off alone, Mamoru wants to see those orders, to dissect each letter for any signs of a trap. It’s protective, and it’s probably unwarranted worry, but if he’s going to watch Kaito ship off to where he’s not allowed to follow then he wants to know all the risks.

Kaito hands him the folder. It’s much lighter than their usual assignments. The details are all there. There are no enemies listed, supposedly no chance of combat or violence. Just a week or so holed up in some computer storehouse working through strings of data Sakura’s been having a hard time cracking. It doesn’t sound terrible. It’s definitely specific to Kaito’s skill set. He runs his thumb over the signature authorizing this whole ordeal. He’s grateful Kaito won’t be directly in harm's way, but his jaw tightens when he reads, _You are to contact nobody except for the express contact during this mission._

“I’m sorry.” Their shoulders press together when Kaito shifts his weight towards their center of gravity. It’s a different apology than the ones Kaito used to give to Mamoru back when he’d apologize for anything and everything just to ensure that Mamoru wasn’t angry, that he wasn’t going to leave or scold Kaito. Those fears had stung, they still sting when he he finds traces of them mapped out between him and Kaito.

“You did nothing wrong.” He brushes Kaito’s bangs out of his face. Mamoru knows Kaito’s apologizing for how this mission is going to be difficult for both of them, not for any perceived wrongdoing. Habit tells him to give comfort anyway. To promise Kaito they’re fine. His mouth and his hand move before his mind can catch up. It’s going to be fine, “I’m just annoyed they’d ship you off with so little warning.”

“It’s apparently really important, and their normal analyst is having trouble.” Kaito steps forward and leans into Mamoru, it’s half a hug but the sentiment is complete. _I’ll miss you._

They maneuver to a seated position on Mamoru’s bed, never quite breaking their grip. Every time fingers come close to slipping off a shoulder, or losing contact with a waist, they grip tighter.

“You’re too talented.” He laughs because it’s true.

Kaito’s self taught skills have become indispensable to Sakura. It started as a childhood curiosity, and then fell down into an obsession to provide relief from grief in strings of numbers and broken codes. Now it’s an asset. A way for others to see Kaito’s amazing skill set. He’s proud, and happy that Kaito’s ability is acknowledged, but Kaito himself isn’t given any regard by Sakura. He’s going on this mission because of his utilitarian use, and that’s what makes Mamoru afraid. You can replace a tool. Sakura wouldn’t miss him save for the inconvenience of replacing him should something happen. That’s not the case for any of them who know him as a person. The mission promises no fighting, but he’ll have to be forgiven if he can’t bring himself to trust any promise made by an entity so careless.

“I’ve tried to teach you before.” Kaito nudges his knee. “You’re not bad.”

Hacking is definitely not Mamoru’s strong suit, but with Kaito’s help he can perform basic tasks. He’ll sometimes work through the easy parts to save Kaito some time, save him sleep or a few extra minutes to eat. But whether it’s his fingers or his mind that are lacking, he can’t catch Kaito’s efficiency.

“I’m not good either.” He pokes Kaito’s ribs. Their talents lie in different places, and Mamoru has always been thankful for that. If one of them has to be more gifted in combat, he’s glad it’s him and not Kaito. Kaito can lose his temper, he has outbursts when he’s mad or scared. Sometimes he forgets to filter his words or expressions- But he’s so well suited to kindness, and to listening.

“You’re very good.” And suddenly they’re not talking about hacking anymore.

Not with the way Kaito smiles at him like that. It tickles the insides of his stomach and chest until he smiles too. If Kaito says he’s good it’s inherently worth more because Kaito knows him best, and Kaito tends towards unflinching honesty. He can’t hide his feelings even when he seals up his words. By now Mamoru has a stack of snapshots of all the different faces Kaito pairs with emotion. He’s so expressive it’s funny, and wonderful, and sometimes painful. Like now when he’s offering Mamoru an affectionate smile, that’s laced up with all sorts of gratitude that he still struggles to feel like deserves.

He’ll take it though because he has gotten better at accepting and forgiving. Thanks to his Messiah. They haven’t run out of things to teach each other yet. If he believed the universe was capable of caring for individual people that might be the reason they got paired. Wrapping an arm around Kaito’s waist stabilizes his thoughts into touch. Their height difference isn’t as extreme as Kaidou-san and Mitsumi-san’s, but Kaito still bends to even it out when he leans into Mamoru. He feels less of Kaito’s ribs and more of his muscles under his fingers. It makes up for all the times he thought his hands would pass right through Kaito, or worse. That he might snap something inside him.

That fear is gone. He knows sometimes he’ll have to remind himself again _Kaito is ok. He’s ok._ It’s a process.

One he’s grateful to have the opportunity to continue, because for so long he thought he’d wake up and realize Kaito died with Haruto, and it had been _him_ who was seeing ghosts all along.

Kaito’s hand comes to rest over his, and squeezes his fingers tighter. He hadn’t noticed the tremor in his fingers until Kaito held him still. Held him _here._ They’re much better at sticking around now. There are far fewer trips to past beaches and walls. That’s not to say that sometimes they don’t start walking that way. This stupid mission has cleared the path to some decidedly unwanted thoughts, but Kaito’s weight anchors him in a different kind of _don’t go._

“You’re really good yourself.” He turns a bit so that he can rest his forehead on Kaito’s shoulder. It’s not quite comfortable for his spine, but he doesn’t really care. Starting tomorrow he won’t be able to do this for a week. It’s more important to get it all in now. A week is hardly anything in the scheme of things, but it reminds him of graduation and of how quickly those weeks apart will add into months, maybe years. They both realize that this is practice for then, but the mission doesn’t start until tomorrow.

Tonight he has his hands full of all different sized dots and lines that he has tried to put into a cohesive picture for Kaito. He’s got a fair amount in position, there are stars drawn to suns from sleepless nights. He’s got crayon holding onto points that shift into pen alongside time. There’s children traced to adults along a wavy line. He has bestfriend connected to Messiah, and there’s half a line drawn to something else. A outlier, kind of… Kaito’s good at reading these kinds of things, and reading him. Now might be as a good a time as any.

Kaito tugs them back into a lying position, and his back appreciates the rest, “I’ll be fine, you know.”

“Yeah. You’ll do great.” He shifts to prop himself up so he can get a better view of Kaito’s face. He knows it’s true. Kaito always works so hard. “I’ll just have to get Ariga to keep me company.”

“Good. You and Ariga will keep each other busy.” They’ve both talked about it. Including Ariga in their activities whenever they can because he deserves to not be alone. Mamoru knows that Kaito has picked up on some worrying habits of Ariga’s that come from god only knows where. Digging too deeply is rude, but leaving him by himself is no solution either. Kaito helps to draw Ariga out, and Mamoru understands certain things about Ariga in that exchange. He knows all the different parts of Kaito well by now, and learning which elements of Kaito Ariga engages with helps Mamoru find those same coordinates on his own skin.

He can’t quite think of what to say next, so he reaches for Kaito’s right arm and rolls his sleeve up. It’s an old habit, but Mamoru still finds comfort in it. He knows Kaito does too. Drawing on skin with his fingertips doesn’t leave any mark. When they were young they used to guess at pictures, but now Mamoru just follows Kaito’s body. Follows the bones of his wrists around to his palm, up each finger, and back down to his pulse. He circles there, and then goes along with his gravity toward Kaito’s elbow. His fingertips find a path up and around the other side of Kaito’s arm to the back of his hand. Knuckles and bones and veins bring him around in loops until Kaito signs.

It’s rewarding when Kaito leans his head back and shuts his eyes. It also reminds him of the night they slept together. The words Kaito gave to him with his body are still inked down his neck. All the places Mamoru tried to reply in kisses, but couldn’t quite keep up with Kaito’s messages. He wants to say something more back. He wants to trace the web he’s been connecting onto Kaito so that he can feel the evolution of constellations Mamoru has constructed.

Kaito will know how to interpret it. He’s been able to read Mamoru’s designs for a long time.

When he leans in to kiss Kaito on the cheek, it’s not a new element but he’s learned to add new colors. Light shades that pick up on all the gentleness he gives. If Kaito wanted to erase those pigments it wouldn’t require much force. Kaito’s pretty fond of keeping his gifts though, and he accepts each kiss; on his forehead, his nose, his chin. He encourages Mamoru with a small nod and a smile. It’s still wonderful and sort of strange to see what he draws get picked up by Kaito’s eyes. Point B to point C, continuing towards point D.

He laughs when Kaito moves in just the right way to make the next kiss land on his lips. Clever. They catch his laughter between their lips. It tickles, so he presses a bit harder to sink that sensation into the both of them. Kaito’s hand slides into his hair, wrapping strands between his fingers. It’s nice. The small tugs come in time to short breaths between kisses. His mouth relaxes to make room for welcoming Kaito and all the warmth he brings with him. This kind of sharing makes him a bit lightheaded. He’s not alone in that. Kaito’s other hand curls into his bicep, the grip gets tighter the longer they go without breathing.

When the do pull back long enough to thank their lungs, he takes the moment to internalize the way Kaito’s eyes are so damn bright, and how he looks when he licks his lips before leaning back in. Mamoru holds Kaito’s face in his hands. The more contact the better. Kaito has the best the cheekbones if he’s allowed to be a bit biased. They create just the right angles to run his thumbs over. He could stay here for days, but there’s a lot to get done before tomorrow. A lot of his Messiah to cherish on a limited supply of hours.

His hands slide down to Kaito’s waist where he massages in small circles. Their kisses drift a bit too. Mamoru works his way down Kaito’s throat, he can feel each gasp before it hits the air. He appreciates all the words Kaito has given him, not to mention how much he likes just listening to his voice. Those thoughts are punctuated with a kiss to the hollow between Kaito’s collar bones. It stalls Kaito’s breath but not his hands. His fingers slide across Mamoru’s shoulders to his back.

Kaito kisses the corner of his mouth first, and then works his way down to Mamoru’s jaw. The kisses fall into nips and the occasional flick of a tongue. It’s difficult to keep his mind his clear, but he doesn’t have to fight it. It’s safe to let himself go wherever Kaito will take him. He can’t decide if he wants to close his eyes or keep them open. Watching Kaito graze his teeth under jaw bone is certainly pleasant. Kaito watches in return. Every movement he makes, he looks up at Mamoru for a response and smiles to himself before continuing. This is only their second time, but they know each other’s bodies well enough that the learning curve isn’t as sharp for them as it might be others.

It’s when Kaito blows on his neck that Mamoru does have to shut his eyes for a minute.

It’s too much stimulus between the shiver that darts from Kaito’s lips down his back, and the strange little wonderful things his chest does when his Messiah is this close. It’s sentimental in ways only Kaito can make him feel. Those hands sliding down to his hips is something else, though. Kaito’s fingers play on threads of heat running through his abdomen. Rounding forward and further into that touch is the the only response he can put together. That and wrapping his arms Kaito’s waist to pull him in. Closer. Always closers.

Chest to chest lets them wear the other’s heartbeat. The right side of his chest is reserved for a rhythm entirely of Kaito’s own. They mirror all the parts of each other that they protect from the acidic sort of silence that rains out of the Church’s florescent lights. He can’t see burns from that toxicity among Kaito’s scars. He’s doing his job.

They back part way out of their embrace, but their hands never leave each other. The distance is just for the sake of trying to catch their breath, trying to remember whose limbs are whose so they put them to proper use. Mamoru slips his hands up under Kaito’s shirt. He’s warm, and his muscles tell Mamoru where to go.

Each shiver brings him closer to all the places Kaito’s likes to be held. He’s sensitive along his spine, and between his ribs. The slope of muscle extending towards his hips bones definitely appreciates his attention. Kaito grabs at his back in return. His fingers almost hook under Mamoru’s shoulderblades. It could be painful, but Kaito’s so damn careful even when they’re both not exactly focused. Each other’s well being is engraved on their bones. _Be kind, take care of him, never hurt._ Force isn’t a bad thing. They definitely tug each other around, pull towards needs, and push each other places they both want to go, but there’s never any violence in those actions.

Mamoru finds Kaito’s lips again because kissing his Messiah is really nice. This permitted by Sakura, but it’s Kaito who sanctifies his touches. His teeth catch on Kaito’s lower lip, and he his kisses the same spot he grazed. The high noise that slips out of Kaito’s throat starts to settle in his ears, but makes itself at home along his spine. Somewhere along the line their legs end up tangled together. It’s easy to forget how long legged Kaito is until he’s wrapped up in Kaito. They collectively manage to shift so they’re properly aligned with the bed rather than half hanging off it.

Kaito tucks himself against Mamoru’s neck, “What do you want?”

It’s not the first time he’s been asked this, but it still jumps around his nerves. Care and concern, but also desire tied to Kaito’s breath. It’s wonderful to feel wanted. How fortunate he’s been that he’s never had to doubt how important he is too Kaito, and each new manifestation of that brings out parts of him he never knew he had but he likes them all the same. Caring for someone like this may or may not make you a _better_ person, but it definitely makes you a more complete person.

“I- Well,” Asking is hard. Kaito should already have a pretty good idea, but sleeping with his Messiah is still a ticklish thought. Phrasing it as “sleeping with Kaito,” is less odd because it removes Sakura’s eyes from the equation. So many of them in the Church do this with their Messiah for a number of reasons, but this is unique to the two of them. He’s been so dear to him for so long, he wants Kaito to see every vein of how deep rooted those feelings have become, “Can we?”

The question isn’t quite complete and he kicks himself for that.

Kaito’s brows knit for the half second it takes him to process the question before everything smooths out into a smile that’s half sweet, half something that falls down each vertebrae of Mamoru’s spine, “Yes.”

They haven’t always been perfectly in synch. Mamoru remembers nights where he was desperate to figure out how the hell he could cut the strings reeling Kaito further and further away from the person Mamoru had memorized. It’s ok, though. They’re free from that now, and nothing is ever perfectly aligned, but they’re definitely on the same page. He’s grateful for that. He’s grateful for Kaito’s fingers in his hair and his lips on his neck. His Messiah is certainly a little more confident this time around, and he should be. Breathing is hard when the number two seems infinitely too vast to grasp when the only thing that fits in his hands in Kaito.

It’s a small relief that Kaito had already shed his long coat. Mamoru tugs the hem of his t-shirt up, letting the backs of his hands drag over Kaito’s skin. He’s warm, they’re both really warm. It makes up for the lack of heat in the Church, for the drafts that come from a building too big for the number of people. Kaito lifts his arms to help Mamoru finish tugging his shirt off. They see each other getting dressed every morning, but getting to see Kaito like this is a special privilege. The story of Kaito’s progress is clear in his body. He’s healthy, he’s here.

Mamoru’s shirt is a little trickier to get off, mostly because Kaito’s fingers shake a little bit. Kaito huffs out mock annoyance from behind a shy smile before the third try finally gets the shirt off. The static in his hair must look funny, but he can’t quite keep his eyes open to check for his reflection in Kaito’s eyes. His Messiah is kissing him again. On his collar bones, up to his left shoulder, and then across the right side of his neck. It’s so gentle that each kiss is just a small fragment of the overall gesture Kaito makes. Mamoru appreciates it all the more for the work Kaito puts into constructing the fluttery warmth that makes him want to laugh and smile and potentially cry.

Returning the favor isn’t difficult. He knows all the places he wants to go. He knows himself and he knows Kaito. Their kind of knowing reaches beyond anything Sakura officials have stored away in hidden files. Finding a sort of smug satisfaction in holding knowledge Sakura can’t make tangible is a nice break from the powerlessness they get thrusted on them.

Kaito allows Mamoru to press his shoulders into the bed while Mamoru bends to kiss Kaito’s sternum. He runs his fingers up and down Kaito’s forearms arms in time with the steady slide down to Kaito’s stomach. His abdominals guide Mamoru’s lips and tongue to all the spots where he can taste the sounds Kaito makes, can hear each muscle moving around whatever source of pull they’ve managed to create between the two of the them. Licking along a ridge of muscle down to Kaito’s hip makes his Messiah sort of jump in place while his fingers curl into Mamoru’s back. It’s not that he startled Kaito, per say, but the way they handle each other sends charges under skin that light up places that they’re the only witnesses to.

_I love you. Can you feel it? I love you ten different ways at once, and it’s- Wow._

He knows he should vocalize these thoughts, but his lips aren’t talented enough to form the right shapes. Not quite yet. Not in a way that would do what he needs to say justice. He’s loved Kaito for a long time, but this version is new and equally as wonderful. Speaking won’t allow him to share what he wants to, but he can whisper it to Kaito’s skin instead.

Mamoru kisses right below Kaito’s navel, and Kaito tugs at his hair. The slight sting helps to keep him conscious during the dizziness that shrouds around his head as he starts to pull back. He doesn’t go far, just far enough to give himself room to untie the drawstrings of Kaito’s lounge pants. It’s difficult to know if they’re going fast or slow or somewhere else. It doesn’t matter, does it? No, not really. They kept pace with each other just fine. Kaito’s hips lift right as Mamoru tugs everything down. He allows his fingers to trace over the bottoms of Kaito’s feet as he gets the pants all the way off. Kaito kicks at the air. It’s a ticklish spot. Mamoru knows this and smiles.

Breathing is somehow both easier and harder when Kaito nestles himself back into their bedding and gives Mamoru a very specific smile.

Kaito is really beautiful.

He’s known that for a while too. But there’s something about this particular moment that reminds him just what kind of beautiful Kaito is. They’re Messiah, and best friends, and each other’s person. Not many people are lucky enough to have that. To hang onto that. Sakura has torn even seemingly strong partnerships apart with pressure and mistrust, but the two of them have remained stable.

The moment he takes to send thanks to whoever, whatever, decides the people that stay in your life is the same moment Kaito gets a bit restless. His thumbs hook under the waistband of Mamoru’s pants, nails digging slightly into his skin.

“Impatient?” He laughs, but helps Kaito work his pants off all the same.

Kaito’s hands massage the insides of his thighs, “I wish we weren’t on a limited schedule but…”

The hands of the clock drag themselves towards tomorrow’s mission. Fuck.

“We have time.” There’s still enough.

“Of course.” They make it enough.

It’s impossible to guess which one of them leans in first, only that when they meet their kisses are painfully sweet and comfortingly forceful. How they manage to express soft and hard, quick and slow, seeking and finding, all in one instance… It’s a testament to what two people bring into one handful of seconds. When they lace their fingers together they can hold twice as many experiences.

Kaito pulls on his hips until they both freeze for instant, and motion returns through the shutter that leaps from their lungs into their muscles. His fingers wrap around Kaito’s biceps and rub up and down his arms a few times. He really is strong, isn’t he? Mamoru’s pride warms up his stomach, but that warmth is hard to pick out in specific when it’s surrounding by so many other feelings. There’s impatience for one. Time isn’t playing nice with them, and besides that he wants to be closer. Wants everything he promised Kaito this would be.

It’s interesting the way each of their ideas morph into touch. Kaito’s moves his knees to give Mamoru more room, and his hands trace spirals and stars into Mamoru’s back. It could happen this way, similarly to the way it did last time. Their bodies definitely have flares of those memories locked into nerves that would be happy to guide them through those motions. Tiny lanterns they left all throughout each other’s bodies should they want to find that path again.

Mamoru lets a breath out. He knows what he wants to try, should Kaito allow it. It’s that same trust Kaito showed him in a variation that guides Mamoru’s hands first to the nightstand and then down his own body for a bit. The motions catch Kaito’s attention for sure. He tilts his head against the pillow, curious, but he holds Mamoru’s hips and the bones of his fingers press a sense of stability into Mamoru that tells him this a good choice. Choices are important, and they help each other pick right because they’ve seen the effects of choosing wrong. You only get to choose so many times in a lifetime. Make it count. They always make it count. Counting years, counting smiles, counting breaths.

Until they lose count. And that’s fine too, because they exceed any total they can add their parts to.

“Mamoru?” He’s heard his name in Kaito’s voice over and over again. It never gets tiring. Kaito’s got a really nice voice. It reminds Mamoru of the mornings after they’d have a sleepover and they’d wake to a soft rain and pleasant warmth.

“Hold on,” Mamoru braces, then shifts. “Is this ok?”

Kaito’s breath hooks his voice, and there’s definitely a gentle shiver darting around his body that Mamoru can feel. He waits until Kaito sighs and nods. Sinking down isn’t quite what he expected. It sort of pinches his lower spine, but it’s not bad. Kaito’s never been bad too him. Even in their worst moments the pain and the stress and even the anger, nothing came from a place of intentional pain. It had just been care showing its teeth. Wearing those kinds of wounds isn’t bad. They don’t leave anything toxic the way other types do.

Any discomfort fades out, of course it does. They know, even when they don’t know. It’s a new experience but Kaito’s careful and he holds Mamoru’s hands while Mamoru figures out a rhythm that has them both trembling. Squeezing Kaito’s fingers helps him balance. He takes their joined hands and runs them in small circles from his waist to his hips. Kaito picks up the motion, and makes it better. He times it with each other move they make towards each other.

Leaning down to kiss Kaito requires a level of coordination Mamoru is surprised he still has. They even manage to not bump heads. Their kisses aren’t perfectly aimed. He gets the corner of Kaito’s mouth, and Kaito’s lips find his chin. They just try again, and again, and one more time before they finally get lips to lands on lips. Their smiles make it a little trickier, but happiness is worth it. They’d never pass up the opportunity to fit it into each other other. Because that’s what this kind of bond means. _I want the best for you._ It’s a learning curve that has just happened to follow the same arches their spines make when they bend towards each other.

Kaito’s mom used to keep these really beautiful flowers that always grew towards the sun. Mamoru doesn’t think the two of them are so different.

Mamoru takes a moment to look into Kaito’s eyes. He doesn’t see any reflections of hallucinations, just a very real, very wonderful presence.

They’re lucky.

And Sakura has nothing to do with that.

Eventually things get more erratic. They both catch sight of the end, and pulling each other towards that place is less about perfect timing and more about _close._ Kaito’s arms wrap around his waist until they’re hugging. It’s a bit more difficult to move this way, but they manage. They always do. It only takes a few more seconds of imperfect pace and unsteady grasps until they’re both tipping into the kind of completion you can only find in someone so vital. He might say Kaito’s name, but their lips are moving together and maybe he’s just repeating whatever he tastes on Kaito’s tongue. It’s all the same flavor of sweet.

His mind is slow to defog, but when he comes back to proper awareness Kaito’s smiling at him and their fingers are still together. Mamoru can feel Kaito’s pulse congratulate his on a job well done. Sleepiness is tugging itself up around them.

The air conditioner kicks on because when isn’t Sakura frigid? It doesn’t matter much though. They slide in closer together, tucking limbs into just the right places where warm and home and _thank you_ are. Kaito tucks the blanket up under their chins to shield their sweat from the chill. It’s thoughtful. Kaito is thoughtful.

“Sleep well, Mamoru.” It’s a good night he’s heard since they were children, but he thinks Kaito’s tongue has perfected the folds of each syllable into something so uniquely theirs.

“You too.” He frees one of his hands to brush Kaito’s bangs back, “Wake me up before you go tomorrow.”

~~~

Kaito had made good on Mamoru’s request, waking him up right at 4:45am to let him know he had to go. It was tempting to just hang onto him a little longer, make him late to spite Kamikita. No, instead Mamoru had just asked Kaito if he had everything he needed again and again until Kaito kissed him. _Yes, I’m ready. Please be careful. See you soon._ All these words given back and forth, until one last hug offered them each a print of that night sky they placed in each other. They can always find each other using those points. Nobody’s going to get lost.

That doesn’t mean this week won’t pose other challenges though. Turns out Kamikita’s plan includes him too. Mamoru and Ariga are supposed to help give some new cadets extra training. It’s not something either he nor Ariga have done. At least he doesn’t think Ariga’s done something like this. Teaching is difficult. There’s a certain amount of a responsibility that comes with it. Are they capable of giving the cadets the tools they need to survive? Maybe Kamikita just wants to keep him busy while Kaito’s gone, maybe it’s some sort of practice run for closer to graduation when they’ll be expected to mentor smaller group of cadets.

The surprise addition to his schedule is less disruptive than the absence.

Morning isn’t quite the same when their room is empty like this. It takes him a few extra seconds to get himself dressed, a few extra moments of straightening up the pictures they have out on their nightstand. They’re probably the only pair in Sakura that has pictures from childhood to the present. Each frame boxes in moment, and they have samples from several years that Mamoru uses to remind himself how far they’ve come.

Kaito’s smile is almost exactly the same as it’s always been. Maybe a little softer, with less exuberance and more reflection.

It’s always harder looking for changes in yourself. Mamoru looks at the picture from about two months before Haruto. He’s definitely not exactly who he was in that picture, but he can count on one hand the number of people who would be able to pick out the differences. There’s some pride in everything he’s managed to hold together.

Instinct tells him to grab two mugs, but the lack of keyboard clacking or Kaito murmuring to himself about a project he needs to finish says to put one back. Sliding both mugs back makes more sense than pulling one out. He’s probably wasted enough time noticing all sorts of little things stranded in the quiet. Like the few square centimeters of detail on their wallpaper that had faded, so him and Kaito colored it back in with markers they borrowed from Kuroko. Or the way their desk lamp’s shade never sits perfectly straight no matter how many times Mamoru fiddles with it.

His phone buzzing reminds him it’s time to go. It’s fine. Starting the day isn’t so bad. The timing still feels off, but timing isn’t everything.

He grabs his gun and tucks it into its holster. They rarely carry their weapons around when they’re not preparing for a mission, but if he’s going to be giving instruction he should have his own weapon as an example. And maybe he’s a little more careful about meeting new people than he used to be- No, stop there. Negative thoughts posing as caution don’t need to come with him. Following the plan will be fine.

It will be simple enough to show them how to fire a clean shot, or go over how to best disarm an opponent. There are mechanisms for that. A set of motions and calculations that will yield results when carried out correctly. Mamoru excelled in his training for this _job_ and the one he held previously, but not entirely because of those formulas. There’s the voice that taps on the back of your neck when someone isn’t what they should be. There’s the ability to keep a quiet mind in chaos, and to be able to follow through without failing parts of yourself.

Are they going to be expected to teach these guys how to be a good Messiah? That thought is cringeworthy. Mamoru knows how many parts have gone into making him and Kaito work, but he couldn’t explain exactly how they made it all fit together, just that they did.

The corner in their hallway comes up a little quicker than normal. He almost walks into the wall, but not quite, he’s agile enough to change his path.

Being a dependable partner can be taught. In a sense. But only by those who are actually in the relationship. Only those two can decide what needs learned to make things work. Each pairs’ needs are a little different, the ability to share that is where it starts. You can’t fix what doesn’t admit anything is wrong. That had stung him with Kaito. Not being able to do more because Kaito wasn’t ready to dig himself out yet, and Mamoru couldn’t move that much earth on his own. But they did move it. One handful at a time at first, and building from there.

He hopes these new cadets aren’t buried too deep. The type of people Sakura gathers are the people with nowhere left to go. Or at least that’s what Sakura want them to believe. That they’re at the end of the line, and this Church is the only one that can save them. They specifically target people who need help, but not the kind of help they offer. It makes him want to yell sometimes. Scream down the halls and pretend his echo is Sakura admitting its guilt. It’s tempting.

He won’t do it.

Ariga’s waiting for him when he makes his way into the room Kamikata specified for this training. A small crawling feeling starts in his stomach. Sort of like the bugs that would find their way into his family’s small garden and chew holes in leaves. It didn’t seem so bad. The cut outs were actually kind of pretty he thought. Until the whole plant started to look sick.

He thinks he can see it on Ariga too. Some sort of nerves or strain. His stance roots him to the ground too firmly, too unyielding. If you don’t move you become brittle and stuck. Mamoru wants to tell him he’s in danger of cracking.

He thinks Ariga knows.

It’s a difficult habit to break though, and maybe it’s a habit that someone helped Ariga teach to himself. Maybe someone sat with him and helped him teach each one of his muscles to memorize responsibility and silence and steady and death. The muscles that learn those best take then take the lead while others start to atrophy. Since Mamiya’s death Ariga has started to show glimpses of change. He’s moving parts of himself that probably haven’t seen use in years. He speaks more than when the two of them were paired. It’s not a full story, but Mamoru’s not bad at filling in the blanks.

“Hey,” He steps in beside Ariga where he stands in front of rows of still empty desks. “Looks like we’re on time.”

“Good morning” Ariga half turns towards him, and glances over Mamoru’s shoulder. His words are as much an exhale as anything else. “Where’s Yuuri?”

“He left earlier this morning on a solo mission.” Saying it out loud comes out easier than he might have expected. But the aftertaste sinks back down his throat until it catches in a lump of whatever anxiety managed to knit together using the lining of his vocal cords.

It’s manages to catch Ariga by surprise. His eyebrows lift before Mamoru thinks he sees unease flick across Ariga’s face too. Neither of them like this seperation. Their original team is already smaller than it should be, and Kaito’s absence is heavier for that.

“Oh.” Ariga stops himself, lips sort of quirking around something dry.

“He’ll be ok.” Mamoru doesn't have to say it. Ariga didn’t ask how he’s feeling, but Mamoru thinks that when it comes to Ariga giving a little extra of his own thoughts is the best way to show Ariga it’s ok to share. Mamoru won’t drop whatever he has to say where others could step on it. He protected Kaito’s self created poison with his own ribs for years, he can lend Ariga some of that too. “It’s just computer stuff. I guess Kamikata didn’t think there was any point in sending me too when Kaito’s so much better at that kind of stuff.”

Ariga’s fists loosen a bit and Mamoru is grateful. He’s always been pretty intune to those around him, and Ariga stepping back from the edge makes it easier to breathe. There’s no need to wind themselves up too tightly. Kaito’s not here, but he’s not gone either. It’s fine to miss him, and it’s fine to allow himself to relax a bit too. They have a task at hand.

“Kagami’s not helping out?” Keeping the hope out of his voice is difficult. It’s not like it matters anyway. Ariga has seen the two of them swipe at each other before.

“No.” Ariga shakes his head, “Ichijima wanted to speak to him about something.”  
“Ah.” Whether Ariga doesn’t know or doesn’t want to elaborate isn’t clear. “Well then I gue-”

The door opens and Mamoru’s mouth shuts.

Kamikita selects that moment to walk up to his position at the front of the room. Mamoru catches Ariga straightening his spine out of the corner of his eye, and his own vertebrae tug themselves into place however begrudgingly. Sakura officials represent many things, but Kamikita was like them once, and Mamoru wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled a few strings for Kaito and him along the way. He reminds himself of that when the burn in his throat comes back.

The cadets begin to file in and take their places at the desks. Their movements are jerky and uncertain for most, falsely confident for a few others. It’s easy to pick out. He’s had too much practice reading situations where the reality of words isn’t a reality at all, and the answers in body language require a certain amount of decoding. Ariga watches each one carefully too. Whatever he’s looking for Mamoru can’t tell for certain, but his eyes follow seemingly insignificant motions before he looks each one of them in the eye. There’s a method. They both have methods. He hopes their eyes are still different from Sakuras. They’re looking for people not potential.

“I would like you to meet Ariga and Shirasaki.” Kamikita nods towards the two of them. “They’ll be spending the next week helping integrate you into your training.”

Kamikita gives the cadets their names and Mamoru is struck with the fear that he probably won’t remember all of the names of these cadets. It’s not that he has a history of being bad with names, but there’s sixteen cadets and they only have a week with them. What if he forgets? They don’t have their identities anymore, and if he doesn’t remember that’s one less person who’ll even know they’re gone should the worst happen. It seems all the more tragic for that reason. Here, if they don’t reminder each other, then who?

Ariga’s thoughts might be running along similar lines. His jaw muscles tighten up when he looks at one cadet in particular. Mamoru follows his gaze and it starts to click. This one guy’s shoulders are rounded forward, and he half cringes when Kamikita’s voice hits a certain commanding pitch. It could be nothing. It could be everything. Mamoru nods gently towards Ariga. _Got it._ They’ll be careful. They’ll keep watch because early intervention is key with most things.

The other cadets seem alright, considering. There’s a mistrust of sorts suspended in the ostentatious amount of candle light. He sighs to himself because he remembers taking it all in for the first time. From the decor to everyone around him. Their future Messiah are probably all sitting in this group. Mamoru doesn’t recall any deaths after Mamiya that require a hole filled in.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot helps keep the pressure of this assignment from drilling his spine into the floor. It’s ironic that if he hadn’t gone into law enforcement, he might have been a teacher. He’s always enjoyed being around kids. His little cousins and Kaito’s had been too much fun. He swallows a little harder. Missing them grow up is one regret that he doesn’t think of often, but when he does… It can’t matter to him at this moment. He needs to focus. It’s a different type of teaching, but he’ll make it worth something. He hopes.

“-and now please follow them to the training room.” Kamikita’s voice is accented by Ariga’s boots striding across tile.

He manages to catch up after two steps, and finds himself trying to count the footfalls of the new cadets behind them to make sure everyone is following. Don’t leave anyone behind. It’s so important.

“This is where we practice with weapons and hand to hand combat.” Mamoru gestures around the room while Ariga grabs a box full of practice guns loaded with blanks. “The shooting range is through those doors over there, but we’re not actually going to be shooting anything today.”

Ariga nods while he works on prepping the practice weapons. His silence itches a bit. Mamoru’s tongue is going to get tired quickly if he’s the only the speaking to these guys. The new recruits are pretty quiet too. They sort of shift around like they can’t decide if they should stay in formation like in front of superiors or if Ariga and Mamoru are close enough in rank to them to relax a bit.

“Take these.” The cadets startle at Ariga’s voice, and Mamoru smiles. “Don’t touch the safety.”

“We’re just going to be going through some basic positions,” It shouldn’t be too strenuous of a day. Him and Ariga have special orders to keep careful attention for which cadets seem to have natural ability.

Two or three have previous combat experience, and they’re easy to pick out from the moment their fingers wrap around their training guns. Half of Mamoru wants to report back that none of the cadets have any potential, that they should be let go before they become a problem. A _Liability._ Kamikita had used that word in particular and Mamoru is still nauseas about it. Do these cadets know what they’re getting into?

He stops that thought though. There’s no way of knowing if here is better than where they came from. It’s hard to imagine, but not not impossible. He sometimes wonders if Mamiya had joined Sakura sooner, if he’d met someone like Kaito sooner, if someone had just told him he matters sooner- Ariga’s hand rests on Mamoru’s shoulder and pats him. Then he’s off weaving through the cadets before Mamoru can say anything. Ariga’s quiet, but firm, adjusting their form and pointing out mistakes in their stances. A few of them offer their thanks, and Ariga just nods.

Mamoru starts counting while Ariga begins to move through all of the basic stances. It’s not that different from when Kaidou-san and Mitsumi-san had been instructing the four of them. Ariga moves with the cadets, showing them what the movements look like on someone who was raised on this kind of dance. Some of them watch Ariga so intently that they’re late on almost every count while others look straight ahead as they catch on. One, two, three, Mamoru watches the ones who have done something like this before. There are a few others that aren’t bad either.

After a few more counts, Ariga steps away and takes over watching and instructing while Mamoru demonstrates a couple other techniques. His arms and feet know each position and how many seconds to hold it. He’s developed timers on his bones that keep track without the invention of his mind. Some of what he shows them is actually meant for partner work. Positions that offer the best vantage point to guard yourself and another person. Body shapes that offer a second person a place to tuck themselves and shoot from when the battle heats up to much for space to remain. Being able to melt into your partner is important. Distance causes accidents in chaos.

“That’s enough.” Ariga holds out the box the guns go in. Each cadet returns their weapon, but but the nervous guy from earlier lingers on his before dropping it in. Interesting. Mamoru’s stomach tightens in time with Ariga’s voice dropping, “We’ll start the same time tomorrow.”

Mamoru nods, “Do you guys have any questions?”

“Um, are you two Messiah?” One cadet points back and forth between him and Ariga.

“We’re not.” Ariga is quick to answer. Quick enough that Mamoru wonders, but he doesn’t ask.

“We were sort of.” He smiles at Ariga. It wasn’t a bad time they had together. Ariga’s a better partner than he thinks he is. That’s started to change with Kagami. “We were temporary Messiah before we were reassigned.”

“Does that happen often? Being reassigned?”

“No.” Ariga glances towards the cadet who asked, “Not unless your old Messiah dies.”

There’s a visible cringe from several of the cadets. Ariga just stands stock still, but his eyes flick towards the light and Mamoru knows that trick. He’s tried it himself. It doesn’t stop the memories bouncing around the inside of his ribcage.

It still stings more than he expected it too, and Mamiya wasn’t even his Messiah. But this keeps happening to him it seems. Not being the one with the most direct tie to the person lost. Feeling his own grief, but trying to support the one (or ones) most affected. It’s just how he works. It was easier to suppress his own pain when Kaito was more entitled to grieving. At least that’s what he had told himself. He tries not to compress those feelings anymore, but he felt himself following many of the same habits when it was Mamiya. Not thinking about what the lose meant for him because Ariga and Kaito were feeling it worse.

Kaito has told him again and again to take some time to worry about himself too. It’s been a process, but honestly Mamoru knows part of him will always feel drawn to serving as that kind of support. It’s costly, but he thinks he’s gained more than he’s spent. Relationships are something that push him towards every tomorrow. Each day when he’s thought about letting himself fade out, he has been rekindled by what he shares with others.

He huffs out a breath, thumbing through his thoughts until they’re back on wrapping up this training session. Ariga’s honesty has left a bitter taste in the air, but Mamoru can’t blame him. It didn’t come out of spite, just a fact. A warning. Sakura will replace your person because people are a renewable resource to them. There will always be guys whose lives have run away with them and Sakura promises something solid enough to serve as the breaks. The collision causes new cracks, but at least routine gives the illusion of stability.

“What’s it like having a Messiah?” One of the combat experienced ones asks. The question isn’t sentimental. More it’s framed like _what’s it like to use X weapon._ Tactical. Calculating. Frustrating.

Still, it’s a difficult question to answer. How to make them understand without forwarding the lie that this one person can fix everything. That it’s their duty to fix everything. It’s an unfair expectation on both ends. Mamoru doesn’t want to say it’s wonderful, or that it’s terrifying. Both are true, but neither are really answers. He glances at Ariga who’s chewing on some sort of response, but keeps swallowing it back down.

“It’s depends.” Mamoru scrapes together something. He knows it sounds like a copout, “It’s whatever you and your Messiah make it, cliche as that sounds.”

“So how is it for you guys?” Curiosity is expected, but this is starting to get into personal spaces that Mamoru wants to tuck away where nobody can drag them out of him. It feels wrong to try to sum up him and Kaito for strangers who haven’t seen anything, who don’t know anything. They’re just trying to navigate their new places, and Mamoru can’t be that map for them.

Ariga studies the the cadets for several moments, hands clenching the edge the of the table in front of him. Mamoru wants to reach out and tell him not to force himself, but if Ariga needs to say something he won’t be the one to stop him.

“It’s difficult.” It’s probably the smallest Mamoru has ever heard Ariga’s voice. It’s not a big change, but enough. Enough that he can see Ariga running his tongue over his perceived failures as if slicing his tongue open on them could bleed the words into some place where those who aren’t here could hear him. “Pay attention to your Messiah. Try your best.”

Mamoru tries to smile, and definitely comes up short. He wants to soothe the nervous faces in front of him, but he doesn’t want to lie. He only has what’s his and there’s only so much of that he can expect them to understand. “My Messiah is the most important person in my life. Not because we’re Messiah, but because he’s him.”

He can feel Ariga’s eyes on him. Ariga knows the sentiment he’s trying to express.

That they make a choice everyday in regards to their Messiah.

Ariga doesn’t look after Kagami because of the word _Messiah,_ he looks out for him because he’s a person who Ariga chose to make significant in his life. And maybe Ariga’s reasons are a tangled mess of causes and effects. Some written on Ariga from the gunpowder of _that_ shot, others predating Sakura, and maybe others simply out of the need to see Kagami survive because he’s a person and people matter. Whether Sakura says so or not.

Kaito is important to Mamoru because of both of their feelings, both of their decisions, and because of everything they’ve decided to help each other be. They hit snags and walls and splits in the road. It took both of them refusing to settle for anything less than finding a way to make them work. And sometimes those decisions hurt, sometimes they were exhausting and he wasn’t sure if he needed to cry or sleep for three days or hit someone. But even in those terrible moments, it was worth it. It’s still worth it.

Whether it will be worth it to the new cadets is entirely up to them, “You guys are free to go.”

When the all start filing out of the room Mamoru silently wishes each one the best. No funerals, no terrifying loses, no self destructions egged on by twisted rules. It’s out of his hands. No one has that kind of control, but if him and Ariga can do _something_ over the course of this week to help them survive, it will have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying myself way too much with this fic. And by enjoying, I mean taking myself on an emotional roller coaster ride XD


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Yuuri's POV one more time.

* * *

 

 

With each new window that opens, Kaito inserts one of the many passwords he’s spent the last few days uncovering. Each input brings him a little closer to the results Sakura requires of him. If he doesn’t take any breaks he might be able to finish by the end of day and get out of here a few hours ahead of schedule. His eyes are definitely used to the light of a computer screen, but he’s had to turn the brightness down a few times by now to help delay that burning drowsiness that eventually starts to set in. That drowsiness never reaches much beyond making his eyes tired though.

It doesn’t have room to go passed that point when it’s in competition with other, stronger things.

Like the adrenaline that comes from the danger of what he does. There’s a need to make sure every action he takes is in no way traceable. For his Messiah, his friends, his own safety- and Sakura’s safety only by extension of those prior desires. Sakura is fortunate it’s also home to those who mean the most to him. But then there’s also the content of what he works on itself… Nothing he has ever cracked while working for Sakura has been anything kind, and he’s not optimistic as to what he’ll find when he finishes this.

Technically, he’s not required to read what he hacks in a lot of cases. Sometimes he’ll be asked to read it over and take preliminary notes, but usually all he has to do is get the files into a format where the proper analysts can actually read them and decide where to go from there. He reads most of what he uncovers anyway. Out of curiosity or a sense of responsibility, it’s hard to tell. Both point him towards the need to know what information he’s turning over to Sakura. His fingers move quick, but his mind is still managing to keep up. A few half hour naps have allowed him to keep himself pretty sharp on little rest. Mamoru might scold him for not getting what would be considered a proper night's’ sleep, but it has been too difficult to stay asleep for too long here anyway.

For one, the bed is set up in the corner of this room where he’s working. Actually, everything he needs for this mission is stuffed into this one small room. Food, supplies, the computer. It’s crowded as much by furniture as his thoughts. He right clicks another tab before closing out a stray pop-up. There might be an echo in here. Either that or the sounds of the mouse and keyboard are so ingrained in him that he’s the one projecting each vibration against the walls.

His spine tingles from a half shiver that runs down his back when he looks down at his arms and hands.

It’s not frightening. He’s seen his hands over the course of his whole life. His body isn’t a stranger, at least not anymore. But right now the images from the screen are painted up his arms, and the cool tones of the light threaten to strip back his skin and show him bones and veins. The urge to shut off the monitor and call Mamoru starts climbing up his throat. Isolation is something he chose once. Something he chose for himself day after day for a long time. Arguably, his mind wasn’t in any position to make good decisions, but it didn’t change the outcome that he had listened to all those whispers. _Stay here, here is safe, you get to keep your brother here. Stay._

Then isn’t now though. He’s conquered those feelings once, and putting them away isn’t the monumental task it used to be. Leaning back against his chair and taking a few deep breaths is enough to steady himself and send those urges back into the hands of a memory. Really the agitation chewing at him is a good sign. Unlike those days he can feel the desire to reach out and hold onto to reality because there are precious things in his life that he doesn’t want to miss. Being alone isn’t intrinsically bad. It can be peaceful, but this room, this assignment, is eerily similar to where he’d come from. If Sakura planned it that way he’ll never know, but he’d like to think that if it’s a test he’s passing. It wouldn’t make sense for them to try to unravel his mind again anyway, but then again a lot of the organization’s desires don’t make sense.

A soft beeping marks the beginning of the last download before he’ll be able to finally figure out what the author of these documents was trying to hide.

With all the work he’s had to put in this week whoever it was must have been pretty desperate to not be figured out. He can feel himself smile a bit at that thought because he got them anyway. This skill of his is something he has grown to be proud of. It has allowed him to do damaging things, but it also helps him help others. The more information they have, the safer it is for whichever cadets are going to be sent after the perpetrator of this incident. Knowledge allows for more detailed plans, for properly positioned backup, for a preparedness that can’t save everyone, but maybe it will save someone and that’s something.

It only takes a few minutes for the completed file to open up. The result of his handiwork is a twisted combination of text and images. Everything is knotted around diagrams that branch out into detailed explanations. Scanning over it draws his nerves into tight circles that convince his heart to pick up the pace. It’s a plan for an attack against a governmental building not far from HQ. These files contain maps, a list of employees, the weapons to be used, and references to a few names that Kaito recognizes as codenames that Ichijima and Kamikata have mentioned in recent briefings. The specifics involved in the notes are disturbing, but it’s not much different from Sakura’s own records and plans in that sense.

Still, Kaito wonders if they’ll pull in graduated cadets for something of this magnitude, or if they’ll rely on current cadets. Maybe both. It’s hard to predict what the higher ups have in mind at any given moment. It’s his job to read data not minds. Vaguely he wonders if him and Mamoru will be sent on this mission, or if Sakura will count Kaito’s contribution as enough and leave them home for this one. _One, two three_. Counting helps refocus him while swivels the chair away from the computer to get a drink of water. It’s not in his power to debate who will go or who might die. All he has to do is hit forward, and wait for a note from Kamikita telling him when his ride will be here to take him home.

The message sent icon lights up, and then there’s just silent space hanging around him. It’s frustrating.

There’s quiet in the Church too. Their voices never seem to quite enough to break through it. Or even if they did, it wouldn’t really matter. The very environment pulls down on them until the only thing that has any chance of reaching the ears of those with some power is a collective groan under the weight of bricks and bullets. If anyone cared enough about them, they would hear each individual sound belonging to each individual life.

But they don’t.

Nobody wants to listen until the voices turn into explosions, and suddenly that’s worthy of being acknowledged. He’s gets angry about that sometimes, but his emotions don’t drag him off the way they once did. They’re still loud, but he’s mostly strong enough to reign them in before they swipe at someone he doesn’t want to hurt. His control isn’t perfect, it probably won’t ever be. No one’s is.

Kaito’s fingers brush across his temples. It’s not really the same when it’s his own fingertips, but it’s still somewhat soothing.

Of course Kamitkita wouldn’t get right back to him about when he can return… It’s probably because he’s busy. He has more pressing matters than shipping Kaito back. There’s some comfort from the fact that there isn’t enough food in here to last him passed the allocated week. Sakura wouldn’t risk starving him. Malnutrition would require resources and time. Both of those are expensive, and as far as he knows there are no other cadets who could easily fill his place. That would mean even more time for Sakura, trying to grow someone in to fit their needs.

He pulls his phone out of his bag and unlocks it. They let him bring it on the condition that he only uses it in an emergency, or to contact Kamikita or Ichijima directly about any issues or concerns regarding the mission. It’s nice to hold onto something familiar in this place that’s he’s not even entirely sure of the geographical location of. The ride over here in a car with windows tinted too dark to see out of only told told him that it’s several hours away from the Church.

He swipes his phone screen. His homescreen is a picture of him and Mamoru in street clothes. It’s looks so normal that he has to laugh, except his throat is dry from not speaking and it sounds more like dust than amusement.

There are other pictures saved on here too. There’s many more of him and Mamoru, some of various pretty things he’s wanted to bring back into the Church, plenty of Ariga too. He even caught a smile once.

There used to be a few of Mamiya too, but the higher ups had demanded erasure of his existence even in their private spaces. Can’t have those pictures being seen by the wrong people. That had infuriated Kaito to the point he thinks he remembers crying or yelling that evening while Mamoru just held him, ( _No, it’s not fair_ ) because terrorist or not Mamiya had _existed._ Logically, pictures don’t define existence. He could erase every image of Mamoru off of here too, and it would never change his memories or how important his Messiah is. But it’s the whole idea that Sakura would go so far that had upset him.

He clicks open his music player and nearly plays _Air on the G String_. It reminds him of Mamiya, and also of his childhood. His mom used to play classical music as a sort of lullaby. When Mamoru would stay over they’d both drift off to those melodies. They’re rewritten now. Notes that used to just swirl around his childhood home, and some performances he’d seen on TV gained a new sort of life when met Mamiya.

He’d heard them when he didn’t want to hear them, and it had just made him more upset with Mamiya for things that weren’t even his fault. It’s still never something he’ll be proud of, but he’s allowed himself to take Mamiya’s forgiveness and Mamoru’s assurances to tie the final knot around forgiving himself.

A quick _ping_ breaks his concentration, or maybe it reconnects it. Depends on where his focus really was to begin with. It’s the message he’s been waiting for:

_We have received all of the documents. Our contact in the area will arrive in 15.25 minutes to bring you back. Be ready and do not answer the door until the contact recites the password that was in the original mission details. Well done._

It’s been a long week, and even the car ride back is going to be more time than he wants to spend away from home. Still, it’s a relief to be finished. Mamoru will definitely be there to greet him, and they’ll end up curled around each other on one of their beds. His body aches for the comfort of a decent mattress and a Mamoru as pillow. He’ll probably check in with Ariga after he gets some rest. Seven days isn’t much, but it is. They all know how quickly things can go terribly wrong in their world, and Kaito’s been uneasy that he’ll come back to somewhere different than he remembers. Ariga was so wounded as quick as you can fire a bullet. Kaito knows something in himself became wrenched out of place in the time it takes someone to drown.

His fears are probably not reality, but that doesn’t stop him from leaping at the door when his ride arrives. The sooner he gets back, the sooner he can prove his concerns wrong. It’s easy to get panicked, but once he’s seated in the car he plugs in his headphones and starts that playlist. The one he almost began back there, but couldn’t quite pick the right second to let it play.

It will keep him company on the ride back.

~~~

Normally he can doze off during a car ride, but it doesn’t work when he’s all alone in the backseat. Instead he just listens to each song that passes and tries to match it to the bends in the road. Anything to help him remember what it feels like to going back along the path he wasn’t ever shown. Is it still following blindly if you know the end destination? Maybe. That’s not quite the case with Sakura though. He doesn’t always know where they’re pushing him, but there’s no way he could keep his eyes closed even if wanted to.

That train of thought lurches to a stop with the car. He has half a mind to ask the drive to not to break so abruptly, but it’s not worth it. Whether it would spark an argument or no response at all he’s unsure. Unhelpful either way. What is helpful is hearing the car doors unlock. Kaito tucks his phone and headphones in his bag before scrambling for the door. The handle isn’t tricky, or it shouldn’t be. Too much enthusiasm to get out the tiny space ends in a few failed attempts at getting his fingers hooked under the plastic. Once he gets it he’s halfway up the path in the Church’s entrance in a few bounds.

Everything looks the same so far, from the shadows the building casts to the weight of the door when he pushes it open. And once his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighter between outside and inside, the hallways are just like he remembers them. His ribs start to feel less like fingers squeezing his lungs with each step that proves things didn’t break in the week he was without contact from anyone. It’s ironically fitting that he’s gone from isolating himself to spurning that kind of loneliness, at least when it’s forced on him (by himself or anyone else).

Heading back towards his room to go find Mamoru is what his first desire is, but he can’t have that quite yet. Not until he reports to Kamikita. It’s ok. He has a few questions for him anyway, even though the chance of receiving answers worth much is fairly slim. Evasion is something all of the higher-ups seem frustratingly good at. It shouldn’t be a surprise considering the majority of them were cadets once, and being a spy demands the ability to lie and disguise. They’re talents run a bit more specific in intention than the cadets’ though. It’s not survival or mission completion at stake, it’s keeping the lights from getting turned up to bright in corners they don’t want anyone to see. Kaito wonders if the management had learned that coldness, or if they were able to climb the ranks because they always had it.

Kamikita’s office isn’t decorated like one, but it always feels sort of like the principle's office. It’s difficult to keep the half-smile away when he thinks of Kamikita being in charge of children. Kuroko would like that at least. There are a few drawings on the wall that look like they’re Kuroko’s, and a picture of what looks like young Kamikita and Ichijima hits into Kaito’s stomach. Of course Kamikita is human, but it’s strange to think about how many of them are condemned to this. What it changes and it what it doesn’t.

“Yuuri, please sit.” Kamikita gestures at the chair opposite his desk.

Kaito sits down and suppresses a shiver. The chair leather is chilled, but he shouldn’t have to sit here long. Just quick enough to answer any questions, and ask what he needs to ask. “Thank you.”

“I reviewed the information you sent back.” He pauses to straight a folder sitting on his desk so that it’s edge is parallel to his calendar. “We will be taking countermeasures to the threat. Ichijima and I are currently deciding on the cadets we’ll be assembling for the task force, and the weapons department is preparing to supply the mission.”

He nods because what else can he do? No questions have been asked of him yet, and it’s hard to find his voice when he can’t trust it to be bound by an assignment like an answer.

“You did well to finish promptly. I’ll inform you if we’ll need you and Shirasaki to participate further on the mission.” Kamikita glances at him in a decidedly unsettling way. Like he’s being scrutinized, pitied, and respected all in one shot

“Thank you, Kamikita-san.” His nails dig into his palms. It doesn’t sting as much as it used to before he had callouses from holding weapons.

“We will make our finally decisions over the next few days, for now we’re sending two teams out to spy on any activity around the target area.” It all sounds so much simpler, than it really is. So much less dangerous than it really is. “Do you have any questions before you’re dismissed?”

“I know I’ve been out of line in my demands before but,” Kaito takes a deep breath, “I would like to go outside the Church tomorrow for a day off. Mamoru and I haven’t had the chance to enjoy the sunlight in a while and I want that for him.”

Kamikita considers him for a moment. Sure they’ve been outside for missions, but it’s not the same and Kamikita should know that. He’s asking for a single day, but that’s 24 hours without Sakura using them and he’s not sure Kamikita is willing to pry those fingers off the two of them for that long. If it were Mamoru asking, he could leverage his perfect record as means of proving they’ve _earned_ it. But it’s him, who has a habit of getting tied up in feelings and memories and other things that trip him up-

“I suppose I can clear you two for a day off.” It’s almost too easy when Kamikita nearly smiles at him and scribbles something down on a notepad. “If that’s all, you’re dismissed.”

“Thank you.” He is still a bit stiff from spending so much time sitting when he bows before stepping outside the office. He lets out a breath he doesn’t remember keeping stuffed inside as soon as the door clicks shut behind him.

Now comes the fun part. Tracking down his Messiah. It’s between afternoon and evening, so Mamoru probably hasn’t headed back to their room yet. He’ll have finished lunch a while ago and either tucked himself somewhere to read or have gone to find Ariga. There are a few places he can go look to find Mamoru, but he thinks he has a good idea… If he keeps his footsteps light he might be able to surprise him. Although, Mamoru is really perceptive, and has only grown more so the longer they’ve been here. He’ll at least try to see how close he can get before Mamoru notices.

He’s walking fast enough that he catches the side glances of a few other cadets he passes by. They don’t seem to read any fear or tension though, and it’s nice to watch them walk by him without being startled away by the volume of his emotions. It’s only a few more turns before he pauses at the edge of a corner and glances around.

There’s Mamoru sitting on the ledge beside one of the larger windows in the Church. The window that conveniently overlooks the back area where most cars drive up after missions with returning cadets. Kaito’s grateful for the fact that his driver had brought him up along to the side entrance instead. From here all he can see clearly is Mamoru’s back. He’s got one leg folded so that his knee must be tucked into his chest, while his other leg dangles off the ledge. The shadow Mamoru casts on the wall is pretty though. The curve of his spine creating the seam between light and dark is fascinating. If Kaito were more artistic he’d draw it. Instead he snaps a quick photo with his phone. Mamoru will probably complain about warning him before taking pictures when he shows him later, but they’ll laugh about it. Kaito will insist that Mamoru never takes a bad picture.

He’s careful about moving in.

The tricky part is trying to get close without being noticed. He’s had plenty of practice making his steps silence. Kaidou-san had made him practice over and over and over again after that incident him and Mamiya got in, much to Mitsumi-san’s amusement. It’s those flashes of memories that remind him how much their senpai cared, and how much he wishes them the best always.

It’s more difficult to sneak up on Mamoru than others, and that’s not just because of Mamoru’s skill. It has as much to do with the way Kaito has to work so hard to keep the sound of joy out of his movement.

He manages to get almost within an arm's length before Mamoru spins to around to face him, surprise and a smile so bright that Kaito almost has to turn his head away for a minute. Mamoru has always had a smile this wonderful. It’s one of the things that drew Kaito to him when they were children. When he was nervous about meeting new people, it was easy to approach Mamoru.

“I’m home.” He reaches a hand out and Mamoru takes hold of it as he slides in beside him on the ledge.

“Welcome back.” Mamoru squeezes his fingers, scooting in closer so their sides are touching. “You’re alright, it went ok?”

It would be nice to tuck himself even closer to Mamoru, but they’re out where anyone could see them and Kaito isn’t fond of the thought of opening that much of their relationship up to the other cadets. Everyone has whatever they have with their Messiah, but certain things they avoid advertising too loudly. Although, there is always that one pair that- Nevermind. Instead he focuses on Mamoru’s question. There is genuine curiosity there that’s not as pained as it once was. Before these moments where full of Mamoru waiting around on pointed fragments while Kaito snapped together some pieces of reality and some of illusion until Mamoru had his hands full of Kaito’s hybrid world. Now everything is clearer, easier to swallow and breathe.

“It went well. Kamikita was pleased.” He bites his lip for a minute. It’s rude to deliver bad news as a part of greeting, but keeping things from Mamoru does nothing but unsettle him. “There’s movement from one of the terrorist groups though. Management is going to be picking the pairs who will be countering soon. It looks like it will be bad.”

“Ah.” Mamoru leans his back against the window and watches Kaito carefully. Now concern runs its fingers over his jaw bone, sweeps its thumb under his eyes. Kaito wants to hold him and reassure him, but they both have seen too much for _everyone will be fine_ not to seem hollow. “If we’re sent at least you’ve seen first hand what they’re planning.”

Kaito nods, lifting Mamoru’s hand onto his knee. It was getting too chilly resting their hands right in front of the window. It will be warmer this way. Cold hands bother Kaito more than they used too. Enough so that he rubs his thumb in quick circles over the back of Mamoru’s hand to warm it up quicker.

Mamoru’s free hand comes up to rest on Kaito’s forehead for a few seconds before dropping away. “You look a little pale. Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

“Yeah. I just couldn’t sleep well.” It’s ok admitting to this. He trusts Mamoru not to panic, and he trusts himself to point out the way certain things still affect him. That he doesn’t have to be perfect. “It reminded me a bit too much of when I-.”

“I understand.” Mamoru cuts him off, but it’s not to avoid anything. He’s smiling gently. It’s that he knows what Kaito was going to say, and he can see the connection he’s trying to make. They’ve rehashed certain details enough times that the words have gone stale. Neither of them need that taste in their mouths. “You did it though.”

“About that terrorist movement I mentioned… They’re planning an attack on one the government buildings.” It comes out in a rushed whisper while Mamoru’s and gets almost painfully tight around his, “There were plans and photos and names. They want to intercept it with a team of cadets.”

Cat masks and Ariga’s gun come into his mind.

He’s half repeating what he said once already, but with new specifics. He shouldn’t mention more without permission, but he takes a breath to continue. Mamoru shakes his head and Kaito freezes, “Shhh. We’re fine.” _Too much. Not here._

It’s easy to forget they’re not in the safety of their own room, and if someone overheard him it could cause an uproar of nervous energy. There’s no sound of footsteps near by, but better to stop before the risk grows. Sleep would probably go a long way towards clearing his mind and loosening his anxiety. Tiredness mixed with concern isn’t a combination that lends itself well to functionality. Still, it’s early to head back to their room for the day. Nobody would fault them for it. They’ve definitely had days off they spent sleeping, reading, or just enjoying each other’s company. But for now… Kaito wants to enjoy being in a relatively open space for a while longer.

“Hey,” Mamoru swings his legs up onto the windowsill, turning so that his back is resting against the frame, “Come here.”

For everything they’ve done, it’s probably laughable that Kaito can feel his cheeks heat up a bit at what Mamoru’s suggesting. It’s a bit more of an affectionate position than Kaito would usually go along with given the semi-public nature of this spot. He hesitates to move in closer for a minute. The ache in his legs and lower back wins out though, and he scoots so that he’s leaning into Mamoru’s chest with Mamoru’s legs on either side of him.

“You’re pretty comfortable,” It’s nicer than the chair he’s been stuck in even if muscles are a little hard, and the leather from their jackets sticks a bit.

Technically speaking, Kaito is a little tall for this, but tipping his head back to rest on Mamoru’s shoulder serves the dual purpose of evening things out and resting his neck. Mamoru’s breath in his ear helps him to quiet his own down. The rush of the mission and the fear of what he found gives under what being near Mamoru offers. It’s interesting how things develop, how he has reacted to Mamoru so many times by now and no matter how the sensations change he never grows numb to them.

Mamoru’s arms wrap loosely around him, rubbing lazy circles against his sides. He kisses the top of Kaito's head, “I’m always happy to to be a pillow.”

“Mhm.” Kaito taps on Mamoru’s forearm a few times. If he unconsciously takes up some of the beats of some of the songs he’d been listening too, Mamoru doesn’t give them a name. He doesn’t do anything to stop them either. “So what did you do while I was gone?”

“Ariga and I worked with some new guys.” It would sound as simple as the weather to anyone but Kaito. He hears it though, the tiny slip from one syllable to the next that spells out discomfort. It is a little unusual to have a pair who aren’t Messiah training kouhai. Mamoru and Ariga are very capable though. And also very close to Sakura’s slip up. If it was a test of sorts, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh really?” Kaito puts a hand on Mamoru’s knee and brushes up and down his shin. “Did it go ok?”

“Yeah. It was just sort of weird, but everything went pretty smoothly.” It’s difficult to explain the kind of off Mamoru is alluding too. They sometimes rely pretty heavily on their shared understanding of certain things, although that’s not always one hundred-percent accurate either. “I think Ariga was struggling a bit. It was hard. Some of them didn’t seem they’ll be able pull it off.”

“You’re not talking about the way they throw a punch are you?” Combat can be taught. Usually anyway. Other things aren’t so easily learned, and those are the dangerous things to be lacking in a place like this.

“It’s frustrating. They pick up these guys who just have had so _much_ happen,” Mamoru pauses, “-and it’s hard to watch them struggle. But who's to say this isn’t better for them, awful as that sounds. I just wish I knew.”

“Mamoru,” Kaito knows that tone. Mamoru always tries to heap extra responsibility onto his own shoulders. Sometimes he gets the impression that Ariga does too, “You both did your best. I know you did.”

“They seemed like good guys.” They drift towards silence, but they’re not quiet. Every point their bodies are connected at is a way of communicating.

If being held like this helps Kaito to relax after the strain of work, then it definitely eases something in Mamoru too. His grip isn’t as tight as when they began, but it’s just as present. His shoulders are move comfortable to rest on now that he’s let them drop into a more natural position.

“Oh,” He twists a little to look up at Mamoru’s face, “I got us permission to talk the day off and go outside tomorrow.”

“Wait, you-” Mamoru’s smile interrupts his words, “How you’d manage that?”

“I just asked.” It sounds much easier now than it had been at the time. Asking for anything here always poses the chance of irritating your superiors, which isn’t ideal when they decide who goes on which missions. “Kamikata was in a good mood.”

“So can we agree to not wear any black tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

He can feel Mamoru’s laughter through his back. It’s nice to be able to do this for him, to give him just a day where they can take off their uniforms and leave behind all the tens of weights that sit in each pocket.

~~~

They haven’t had a group breakfast in a while. The four of them usually have slightly different morning schedules. It used to be easier to spend every morning together. When four included Mamiya. He seemed to genuinely enjoy sitting together for meals, although at times he had tightened up, looked overwhelmed. Kaito had never spent enough time considering _why_. He’d seen the strange tensions pulling on Mamiya and Ariga. How one would move his right arm and it would yank the other’s left knee out of place until they both almost fell. Again and again. He saw the effects and never questioned the causes.

After the funeral-that-never-was, the three of them all had regrets. All had oversights and missed opportunities. Assigning blame is so much easier when the person in question isn’t there to validate or absolve.

Right now though...It’s hard to see anything beyond the mountain of whipped cream on Kagami’s pancakes. Ariga watches Kagami eat with an expression that’s both exasperated and amused. There are things Kagami has said, things he’s done, that Kaito won’t ever agree with- But at least he eating habits are so coated with a child-like joy that it brings Ariga some kind of joy. No matter how insignificant, Kagami is enjoying this tiny part of life. He’s alive to do so. Ariga hasn’t failed him. It’s difficult to watch in a way, but Kaito can’t quite put the book down.

He rests his hand on his chair, palm up. Mamoru takes one more sip of juice before the hand that’s not working on his grapefruit disappears under the table to fold into Kaito’s. They don’t do this every morning, but something about being here as a group is nostalgic in the sorest kind of way. It’s worth it to spend time together, and with Ariga, but the absence of not just a chair for Mamiya but a chair for stability leaves an empty edge.

“Ariga, pass me the sugar.” Kagami reaches across the table towards the sugar, and Kaito squeezes Mamoru’s fingers when his hand twitches.

“Here.” Ariga grabs a handful of packets and dumps them in front of his Messiah. He drops them from high enough that they scatter and Kagami has to grab around to gather them all. Kagami probably thinks it’s more fun that way anyway.

Ariga and Kaito may or may not have maneuvered the seating at the table so that Mamoru and Kagami are diagonally across from each other. Maximum distance just in case things get a little sour. So far no one has mentioned any of the trigger topics that tend to launch Mamoru and Kagami at each other’s throats. It’s difficult to make any progress towards getting the four of them to gel as a unit when Mamoru and Kagami have opposing views on something uncompromisable for each. And of course Kaito understands why Mamoru’s feelings are so strong, he shares many of them, but they’ve seen what can happen when communication is off in a team. So long Kagami is Ariga’s Messiah they’ll have to depend on him in some capacity.

That’s frustrating, and nerve wracking for Mamoru.

“Your mission went ok?” It takes Kaito a second, and Mamoru’s elbow nudging his side to realize Ariga is asking him a question.

“Oh yeah!” It’s difficult to explain with giving too much away. Telling Mamoru is one thing, leaking that information in the breakfast hall would be ill advised. It still stings to hold it back from Ariga. “I got all the files taken care of and sent off to Kamikata.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” His hand pauses halfway to his drink. It’s not that he doesn’t think Ariga is capable of kindness or anything like that, it’s just always a surprise when he’s open enough to share it. It’s different from when they first met. So much is different from then.

“Thank you.” He hopes Ariga can read in his smile the sincerity of his gratitude. The warmth of that sentiment helps to peel off what’s left of those cold tones and destructive letters he’d spent so much time with.

“You finally caught up on your sleep once I dragged you back to our room.” Mamoru has always been so good at slipping messages of _take care of yourself_ in with his teasing. But he knows. Kaito had told him why it had been so hard to rest. Still, Kaito thinks Mamoru mentions it in front of Ariga because the two of them have this team effort to make sure he’s doing ok.

It’s frustratingly endearing. Enough that he kicks lightly at the leg of Mamoru’s chair.

“Do you always drag Yuuri to bed, Shirasaki?” Kagami’s laughing before he even finishes getting the words out. The joke is only made more crude by the gesture he makes with the straw of ice coffee.

“Enough.” Ariga doesn’t raise his voice but the message not to push any further is clearly drawn.

Kaito wraps his leg around Mamoru’s and squeezes his hand. If Mamoru really wanted to break free and lunge across the table he could. He doesn’t. He’s tense against where they’re touching, but does lean back in his chair and exhale heavily. Tracing his thumb over Mamoru’s wrist seems to keep them both a little calmer.

Of all the rude comments Kagami has made about relationships, this one is actually not that bad. Although Kaito will still consider tripping him next time he gets the chance. Speculation on their sex life isn’t appreciated. If it wouldn’t also embarrass Ariga, Kaito might offer a counter question of whether Kagami’s treatment of lollipops extends to other areas.

“I’m just having fun.” Kagami tips back in his chair. His pout is less than effective given the smile that keeps threatening to break through. He has an addiction to getting under people’s skin that Kaito can’t quite figure out.

“Your definition of fun isn’t shared by all of us.” It’s as much restraint as Kaito can expect from Mamoru.

“I think you need more hobbies, Shirasaki.” It’s easy to see that this train is going to derail too. Kagami is pretty gleeful in everything he drives off the tracks, “-and I mean other than Yuuri, and being overbearing.”

“Kagami stop.” Ariga isn’t one for requesting much from others, but the exhaustion creeping into his voice prods at Kaito’s nerves. It’s not Kagami himself that’s really tiring Ariga out, at least he doesn’t think so. It’s the whole situation of trying to make a relationship work when he’s trying to grow it out of burnt ground.

The effort it requires is so much more that way.

“We should get going.” Mamoru shoves his chair back and stands up. He’s more gentle when it comes to pulling Kaito’s chair out.

It’s a good time to get out of here anyway. They don’t have the opportunity to spend days off like this often, and Kaito wants to make sure they catch enough hours of sunlight to last them for awhile. There’s a difference in the light between inside Sakura and outside it, and he knows how much more Mamoru likes those colors.

“Yeah. We can head out.” Kaito pauses to pat the back of Ariga’s hand once, “We’ll be gone for the rest of the day, but text us if you need us.”

Ariga nods gently. He knows how much this means to the two of them to get an escape, however brief.

“Have fun,” Somehow when Kagami mentions fun this time it sounds pretty sincere, and Kaito wishes he was easier to know. If they understood _why,_ maybe some of his other views wouldn’t be so hard to swallow…

“Thanks.” His genuine appreciation for finding enjoyment in life is actually pretty admirable given their situation. It’s difficult. Always difficult. And so long as he shoves against _together_ there’s no way to force him to fit into their team. Mamoru isn’t ready to trust him. His protective streak sees him as a threat to Ariga, and Kaito sees the fairness in that assessment. He wants this to work for Ariga too. So badly. He deserves it more than Kaito can express. Who knows what another perceived failure would do to him.

It’s difficult to think about, but he swallows it and steps away with Mamoru to focus on what he can do for someone he cares for right now.

~~~

There are so many places outside the Church that they can’t possibly visit them all, but it doesn’t really bother Kaito because wandering around with no particular destination in mind is a treat in its own right. They could go get something to eat, or see a movie. There’s a shopping plaza not a long walk from where they are too.

Possibilities… But none particularly tempting. It’s a little more difficult for them now that they’ve been inside Sakura, being there as long as they have warps things. They carry around parts of the Church with them, heavy parts that clang behind them but nobody looks at them strangely. Their street clothes are _normal._ Mamoru looks especially good in a white and blue sweatshirt. Pale colors are almost defiant, even more so when they’re on Mamoru’s shoulders. Kaito counts their steps, and the way the two of them walk isn’t _much_ different either. Maybe their footsteps are a little bit quieter even though they’re not actively trying to make them that way.

Those aren’t the real differences though.

It’s all in how they view the people around them. The suspicion that never quite lets up. Not everyone they have dealt with looks like someone they would have considered dangerous as kids. Now they’re more careful, appearances don’t promise anything. Mamoru will pause for half a second, and Kaito will follow the motion. Reading the city life around them like they’d read a mission field proves the lengths survival instincts will go to when they’re given frequent workouts. He’s begrudgingly thankful to those reactions though. Without them they definitely wouldn’t have made it this long.

And as much as some changes are stuck on the inside of his eyelids, other things are very much the same as they’ve always been.

Like the way the sunlight looks on Mamoru’s skin for one. Kaito’s gotten pretty good at walking and observing small details at the same time. His Messiah is always a nice thing to watch, especially in an environment like this, with some level of freedom they don’t get so often.

Of course the sun doesn’t have any preferences when it comes to people, but if it did it would be easy to imagine Mamoru as one of its favorites. The light catches on his cheek bones and erases the dark circles under his eyes at the same time it slides down his jaw and softens some of the lines there. It falls down strands of his hair, and runs down his arms like it’s looking to settle in his palms. Mamoru’s shadow is larger, sharper, than it used to be, but he’s still a bright spot.

He’s always been that.

It’s difficult to remember certain things, certain times. There are parts of his memories where he was too tired, or too delirious, or too scared to take down proper records. Those holes have been tripping stones of all different sizes. How frustrating is it when you reach for a week and can’t grab a single day of it? The doctor Sakura begrudging let him see said that was normal. Trauma and coping mechanisms and sleep deprivation all worked on his mind and on his nerves. He remembers Mamoru walking through his door again and again though. Usually bringing with him food, warmer clothes, basic supplies. Just plain company.

At one point the numbers on his calendar had stopped making sense, but the labels on the meals Mamoru had stocked his fridge with did. _Monday lunch, Tuesday dinner, Wednesday breakfast._ All in that familiar handwriting. He could prove Mamoru had been there even after he left.

Kaito had kept his curtains drawn, but Mamoru had brought the light in with him. It had never been blinding though. There had been other things too. Things he saw but didn’t really understand for what they were until later. He’d sit and watch Mamoru thinking that he could read all of the stuff he was missing on Mamoru’s skin and in his eyes, and that that was all he needed. It had been foolish, but not entirely without reason.

In those moments Mamoru did bring him bits of the world he was missing. He gave Kaito piece after tiny piece; waiting, hoping, that he’d start to wake up. Subconsciously he’d recognized the gesture, even if he had been too stuck to express that. It’s better now. On both of their ends. It’s not that Mamoru had kept hidden secrets, and more that he’d held onto things he felt Kaito couldn’t withstand. Learning to trust the strength of their foundation again has taken time. They’ve added reinforcements and additions that they didn’t need as kids, but now what they’ve gained is worth the struggle of lifting each new piece into place.

Mamoru walks a bit closer to him so their shoulders bump. The backs of their hands brush briefly too. They’re both smiling, and he’s grateful for that. Grateful for every inhale that tastes like spring turning to summer and not burnt gunpowder. They have never stopped being human, but it’s easier to remember how much there is to living when they’re surrounded by people who lead all sorts of lives nobody in Sakura can have anymore.

Sure, they still have lives. They can still make take ownership of their existences, of their relationships. But Kaito can’t help but be impressed that the world around them continues to be a thousand different colors that the Church’s decor will never make use of. There are smells and sights and sounds that shouldn’t seem as new as they do, but he hardly ever notices these things when he’s focused on a target so they’re a surprise now. He’s learned to listen for radio static and weapons being drawn. Stroller wheels on the sidewalk, and bells on shop doors break up that cycle.

The further they walk from the Church, the more Kaito can imagine what it might be like if they just took off. He could crash the communication system on one of their missions and disappear with Mamoru. But they can’t really, because that still wouldn’t be freedom. Running and looking over their shoulders would never give them the kind of life he wants for himself, for Mamoru. Taking off would mean leaving even more behind. So as much as he’d love to leave, as close as he came to suggesting they bolt before they witness another life like Mamiya’s come undone- It won’t work.

They’ll just have to graduate and hope. There are no other options. What age is retiring age anyway? Is there one? That’s never been clear. Nobody will let them know if/how/when they can start building their next life. The statistics he’s looked into don’t exactly indicate Sakura has to worry about retirement plans very often. Cadets seem to be most useful when they live long enough but not too long.

“Hey,” Mamoru nudges him, “What are you thinking about?”

“The future I guess.” He smiles. The thoughts aren’t kind, but they don’t panic him and that’s progress. He can feel the anger, and the fear, and the hope. But he doesn’t fall too deeply into any one of them, “I hate the whole graduation process. It seems unfair.”

“Me too. But-” Mamoru wraps his pinky around Kaito’s, “We’ll be ok. We’ve made it this far, and we’re not going to lose each other now.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Nobody can guarantee them much. It doesn’t work that way, but he trusts Mamoru when he promises him this, “Thank you for being my Messiah.”

If he surprises Mamoru, the laugh that follows covers it up. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Kaito.”

“But I want to.” He can feel himself smiling around where Mamoru’s laughter is tickling his lips. Mamoru doesn’t require his gratitude, and that makes it all the more effortless to give it.

“You’re sweet.” If it’s intended to make him blush, it works. Funny how Mamoru is still so good at that. Picking just the right words for a specific response. He never capitalizes on that embarrassment though. “Hey, look-”

He follows Mamoru’s gesture to a bench overlooking a section a park they’ve come across. It’s peaceful, but not quiet. Children are running around under some lax supervision from their parents. It sounds like a playdate of some kind with all the giggling and smiles. The softness in Mamoru’s expression while he watches them tangles up in Kaito’s chest. It crosses lose over his lungs, but it also laces up a protective warmth around his heart.

They didn’t have any particular plan when they went out today, but now they’ve got a chance right in front of them. He takes Mamoru’s wrist and tugs him around to the bench so they can both sit down and take second-hand joy in the games the kids have going. Is it second-hand joy? He doesn’t really think so. Maybe it’s not as pure in form as it had been when they were ten, but he is _happy_. It surprises him whenever he can make that observation with honesty. Picking out such a delicate emotion under the pile of strains their work dumps on them is hard. Delicate might not be the right word though. Flexible is probably closer.

“Remember when we used to play ball like that?” Mamoru laughs, and Kaito can practically picture his twelve-year-old self tripping over his own left foot in Mamoru’s thoughts. It had only gotten worse when his legs hit his growth spurt before the rest of him, but Mamoru had helped him up again and again.

“Yeah. You and Haruto were always better than me at sports.” His brother’s name sliding off his tongue catches him as off guard as it does Mamoru. They both jerk from the inertia of those memories careening into the present moment. The collision never comes. It slows back into a normal pace, one their breath can keep up with.

Mamoru gives his knee a soft squeeze. It’s easy to read in each fingertip just how proud he is, how grateful he is... How amazing it feels that they can both grieve and remember and still _live_ all at the same time. Kaito never thought he’d get that good at juggling. He has though, and he allows himself a moment of pride. If he can keep this up, maybe him and Mamoru will have a real conversation about Haruto someday. About what that lose meant, means, to each of them. For as long as it’s been, they still have never said everything they’ve both wanted to. If they get the chance the could even visit the ocean where it happened. Kaito has avoided bodies of salt water for years now, but placing some flowers on waves would put more than just _goodbye_ to rest.

It’s ambitious, and he’s probably not quite ready for that yet. But it’s a start, and that’s-

One of the kids kicks the ball at another, but overshoots it a bit.

It goes sailing over outstretched fingers and towards their bench. Kaito leans forward and grabs it with one hand. His reflexes are much quicker than before he became a spy. This is a nice benefit compared to what his improved reaction time is usually used for. The pattern on the ball makes him smile. It’s of ducks and cats in rain boots. The kind of fanciful friendship that every kid should have in their life. Mamoru pats his back when Kaito tosses the ball to the kids. Their excited chattering and yells are endearing, “Thank you Mr!”

They don’t even know his name, but they’re just thrilled he’d help them continue their game. And that’s why Kaito’s so fond of kids. Or at least part of why. Sakura took his identity, locked it up where it can’t reach anyone in the “real” world. But he doesn’t need his identity to make these kids happy. They don’t need “Yuuri Kaito,” or where he was born, or how old he is to smile and wave at him. To interact with him as a person. He’s been erased over and over again, but they still see him. And they still see Mamoru beside him. Validation from elementary schoolers is more precious than any of them will realize when they leave the playground today.

You can’t trick a kid the way you can most adults.

Mamoru grins at him, “Nice throw. You’ve gotten more athletic since we were their age.”

“I’d hope so with the training regiment they’ve got us on.” Mamoru trying to teach him baseball had been about as successful as him trying to show Mamoru how to write a program. They’d alway been proud of each for their individual talents.

Soon the height of the sun reminds Kaito that they’ll have to get back soon. Being out after dark is not something Kamikita cleared them for, and kids all starting to be collected by their parents anyway.

It doesn’t feel like they’ve had hours. Or maybe it’s just that hours barely seem to tip the scales when they’ve got days and days stacked on the other side. Bitterness doesn’t quite manage to work itself under his tongue, not when one kid turns around to wave bye to him and Mamoru again. Outside of their Sakura coats they still have a presence, they still catch light. Today was a reminder of that.

“Did you have fun?” He knows the answer, but he asks Mamoru anyway. That seems to happen when you like someone’s voice so much. When you like that person in general, so very much.

“Yeah! Of course.” Mamoru’s smile falters when he begins again, “I just didn’t realize exactly how much I missed this kind of thing. That’s a scary thought.”

“It’s ok.” He means it, but the concern of Mamoru’s is still real. It’s the fear that they’ll become too conditioned for death to want life, and settle for the Church’s intimidation instead. That they’ll give it all up, or fall apart, because they can’t see the worth in any of it anymore.

But seeing his Messiah today, Kaito’s not worried, and so he mirrors Mamoru’s earlier reassurances. “We won’t let it happen to us.”

Kaito doesn’t make vows often, breaking them is so costly. This is one he believes in though. Mamoru watches him for a moment, then two. Kaito knows he’s projecting clarity and love and everything else that is so magnetized to his Messiah. They both find what they’re looking for when it comes to each other. Their partnership has survived strain and transformation because of how well they have learned to observe and listen to themselves and each other.

They’ve never stopped seeing what the two kids they used to be first saw in each other. It’s just that now they’ve seen even more. Have come to love even more.

Mamoru takes his hand and tucks both their hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, “Ready?”

They will have to be forgiven for taking the long way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow. This fic has definitely been a wild ride, and I have had such a good time with it. The response to it turned out to be a lot more positive than I ever expected so thank you so much for that! I owe an especially huge thank you to Calenlass_Greenleaf and lightningwaltz for letting me ramble about ideas for this fic, and encouraging me so much. They're just really great people to have around <3\. 
> 
> I actually wasn't sure where to end this fic because I have more stuff planned out that I was originally going to include, but as I was writing this chapter I thought that it would make a fitting end. All that other stuff I was going to put here kind of kept growing and growing as I wrote this fic, and so it will be getting its own fic. XD I think it will be easier that way, and give me more room to develop those ideas into their own fic that will be a sequel to this. There are certain aspects to what I want to do next that I felt would have overcrowded this fic if I tried to shove them in here. So yay! You can look forward to that. I do have some other stuff I want to finish before I start that though, and I'm going to try to prewrite chapters because once August roles around my time crunch will be not so fun. ^^;
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who got all the way through this! 
> 
> (I'll probably proofread this chapter one last time when I don't have such a headache, but I wanted to get this up now because I'll be pretty busy over the next few days and I've been slow enough with this fic. Haha)

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I have complete and total respect for Mamoru and Yuuri's platonic relationship. This is an experimental fic exploring what it would look like, had they chosen this course as a way to deal with the implications of the events in Hagane. 
> 
> Also, I haven't written in a multi chapter fic in forever so bear with me.


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